


Needing You More and More, Let’s Give Love A Try

by supernope



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: ALSO the baby isn't louis', BUT THE REST IS ALL FLUFF AND FALLING IN LOVE, Blowjobs, Bottom Harry, Disgusting amounts of fluff, Friends to Lovers, I promise, Lawyer Louis, M/M, Mpreg Harry, Outdoor Sex, Photographer Harry, Reverse Cowgirl, also, and harry is sad for like half a scene, that's pretty much it tbh!, way too many pregnancy facts and nicknames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 14:11:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6523360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernope/pseuds/supernope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Do not get hard, do not get hard,' Harry chants in his head. It’s working, but Harry still breathes a silent sigh of relief when Louis lets go of his wrists and clambers off of him. He doesn’t move for a moment, just watches Louis fuss nervously with his fringe before saying, “Why don’t we go walk off breakfast?”</p><p>Harry only hesitates for a second, then nods. He gets to his feet with a quiet, “Be right back,” and heads back to his bedroom to get dressed. Once safely enclosed in his room, Harry glares down at his belly and scolds, “It’s bad enough that you’re messing with my body temperature, do you have to mess with those hormones, too?”</p><p>There’s no answer from the baby, but Harry takes that as surrender. Pausing by his bed, Harry takes a second to shake off the residual, lingering embers of arousal before choosing an outfit for the walk. He’s already pregnant with a stranger’s baby, the last thing he needs right now is to be lusting after his best friend.</p><p>[OR when Harry gets pregnant after a one night stand, Louis helps him get everything together, from buying pregnancy clothes to taking him on a babymoon. Somewhere along the way, they realize that their feelings for each other are more than platonic.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Needing You More and More, Let’s Give Love A Try

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PenTaeBomb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenTaeBomb/gifts).



> Dear LaerkeKTK, thank you for the adorable prompt, I hope this is (somewhat) what you were looking for! I tried to stick to the prompt as much as possible, I hope you like it!! Thank you SO much to J and M for all of their invaluable help in writing and editing this fic, I would be lost without you.
> 
> Uhhhhhh okay I think that's pretty much it, I hope you guys enjoy the fic! ♥

“The band cancelled, the caterer can’t get enough sea bass, there’s a typo on the cover of our sign-in book, and it turns out my sister is pregnant, which means she needs a new dress and that by the time the wedding comes, she’ll have a belly we’ll have to hide in all of the pictures!”

“Alright, Sylvia, breathe.” Harry sets his camera down so he can place his hands on the hysterical woman’s shoulders and breathe with her. “That’s it, in and out. In and out.”

He can see her visibly calm down, shoulders slumping and brow unknitting, watches and breathes with her until the panic has left her eyes and color has returned to her face. Once she’s started to breathe normally, Harry leads Sylvia over to a settee and mouths the word ‘water’ over her shoulder at the man wringing his hands nervously by the window. Harry waits until he’s returned with a glass of cool water, then presses it into Sylvia’s hands with a whispered, “Here, love, your wonderful fiancée has brought you some water.” He lets her take a few sips, then says, “It’s all going to work out, Sylvia. You might end up with your second choice of band and entrée, but your sister is going to look gorgeous and everyone is going to have so much fun, they’ll be talking about your wedding for months afterward. Plus, you’re going to have the best engagement photos anyone’s ever _seen_.”

Sylvia lets out a small laugh at that, one only mildly tinged with desperation, and says in a tremulous voice, “We’d better. My cousin’s were amazing, I can’t wait to wipe the smile off that smug arsehole’s face. Competitive bitch.”

Harry laughs dutifully and takes the empty glass out of Sylvia’s hands, then straightens up out of his crouch. His back twinges with the movement, but he just fists a hand against his side and stretches it out a bit. He has a client to please, and nothing at this current moment in time is more important than that.

 

It’s dark out when Harry wakes up to the insistent trill of his ringtone. Groggy and disoriented, he feels around the cushion by his head until his hand connects with the cool metal of his phone and lifts it to his face so he can squint blearily at the screen.

“Hello?” he croaks, rolling over onto his back. He lets out an involuntary whine at how sore it is, tries arching it this way and that while he waits for a response.

“Hazza, where are you? I’ve been waiting for you for twenty minutes, and that’s after I was ten minutes late. Is everything alright?”

Frowning, Harry mumbles, “Late? For what - oh, fuck.” He bolts upright, ignoring the way the small of his back screams in protest. “Oh, shit, Lou, I’m so sorry, I fell asleep. Let me just go change and I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, tops.”

“You sure you’re okay, love?” Louis’ voice sounds worried, coming down the line, but Harry just waves a hand through the air, dismissing it.

“Perfectly. Just had an exhausting client this afternoon. I’ll be there in a quarter of an hour, promise. Love you, bye.”

Harry hangs up before Louis can respond, then pushes slowly to his feet, mind racing. He and Louis were supposed to meet tonight to celebrate him winning a huge case, Harry _knew_ that. He can’t believe he fell asleep like that and didn’t even bother to set an alarm. Shaking his head, Harry shuffles down the hall of his tiny flat and into his room to find a proper outfit. It takes longer than usual to wiggle into his favorite skinnies, stomach sucked in as he fights to button them, and Harry makes a mental note to throw out the digestives he keeps in his desk drawer for an afternoon pick-me-up. A flower printed button-up and a pair of boots round off the outfit, then all Harry needs is his wallet and he’s out the door.

The pub they’re meeting at is Louis’ favorite and is almost exactly halfway between his flat and Louis’ house. Harry makes it there with two minutes to spare, impressed with himself. He takes a moment outside the pub to ruffle his hair and take a breath, then slips inside. He spots Louis immediately, sat at their usual booth in the back corner, eyes locked on the door as he waits for Harry. The moment their eyes meet, Harry forgets all about the ache in his back and the way his feet feel swollen in his boots. Louis is eyeing him critically, but there’s a brilliant smile on his face and he’s already standing, waiting for a hug.

Harry crosses the room and walks right into Louis’ embrace. Wrapping his arms around Louis’ neck, Harry presses a smacking kiss to his lips and murmurs, “Congratulations, big shot. I’m so proud of you.”

Louis hides his grin against Harry’s shoulder while he squeezes him tight. “Thank you,” he whispers before leaning back and lifting his hands to cup Harry’s face. “Hey, are you okay?”

Harry rolls his eyes and insists, “ _Yes_ , I’m fine. I was just tired from work.” He extricates himself from Louis’ grip so he can scoot onto the bench. He’s still feeling a little sleepy and weak, but he won’t admit that to Louis. Instead, he adds brightly, “It’s nothing a burger and a little red can’t fix.”

Louis doesn’t respond to that, and when Harry looks up from the menu, he finds Louis staring at him as if he’s grown a second head.

“What?” Harry asks, patting his hair self-consciously. “Do I have something on my face?”

“Since when do you eat the burgers here?”

“I eat them on occasion,” Harry says defensively.

Louis just shakes his head, though. “Not since I’ve known you, you don’t. You like your burgers McDonald’s quality and three sheets to the wind.”

He’s right, Harry realizes with a frown. He’s never really been a big fan of the burgers here, too greasy and loaded up with bacon, but right now he can’t think of anything else. Fishing for an excuse, Harry says lamely, “Well, you love them so much, I want to try one again. See if I haven’t changed my mind.”

Louis’ expression is skeptical, but he lets it go. They wait for the waiter to come take their orders, then bring them their drinks before Harry nudges Louis’ foot underneath the table, offers him a big, cheesy smile to try and wipe that pensive look off his face. It works, and Louis kicks back, reaches across the table to grab Harry’s hand so he can play absently with his fingers.

“So, this case,” Harry prompts, taking a sip of his wine. “I bet you looked proper sexy in your court suit. When are you going to let me come watch you at work?”

Louis snorts and kicks Harry lightly under the table. “Wouldn’t want you popping a stiffy in the courtroom where everyone can see.” The teasing tone fades after a moment, though, and Louis sighs, twisting Harry’s ring around his finger repeatedly. “It was a custody case. Divorced couple with three children. Law favors the mum, but she’s horrible to the kids and dad wanted them. We won custody, but I still have a lot of work to do on the back end of the case to make it all permanent.”

“I’ll help,” Harry says immediately, twisting his hand around so he can tangle their fingers together. He loves kids, always has, and it breaks his heart when Louis’ cases don’t work out. “I want to help.”

The look Louis gives him is grateful, but he shakes his head. “I appreciate the offer, darling, but it has to stay within the firm, and you have enough on your hands as it is.”

“Well, I’ll cook for you and help you at home. Bring you lunches at work. At least I can do that,” Harry insists.

Louis’ smile is soft, his expression adoring when he squeezes Harry’s hand, whispers, “I love you, Hazza.”

“I love you, too, Lou.” Hand still clutched in Louis’, Harry turns around in his seat, asks, “Now, where is our food? I’m starving.”

~*~

Letting out a long, suffering groan, Harry twists around so that his head and shoulders are hanging off the edge of the sofa. It helps the ache in his lower back when he lays like this. Harry rubs his belly and groans again. “I have a food baby.”

Louis snorts, kicking out at his foot before tangling their legs together. “Are you sure you’re not pregnant? I’ve never seen you eat like that before.”

“Skipped lunch,” Harry mumbles. “I was already overbooked, but then Sylvia showed up because she wanted to re-shoot a few of her engagement photos... Plus, last time I checked, you have to be having sex to get pregnant.”

Louis doesn’t respond to that, and they fall into an easy, comfortable silence. Lulled by the quiet, his full belly, and the warm, pleasant weight of Louis’ legs on his, Harry dozes off.

He comes to a while later to Louis slipping one hand underneath his knees and the other under his shoulders, then again when Louis sets him gently down on his bed and starts to tug off his shoes.

 

The next time Harry is aware of anything, there’s an alarm going off. The gray light of dawn is peeking through the blinds and Louis is wrapped around him, nose buried in his hair and hands resting lightly against his stomach. One of Louis’ hands twitches, then he reaches out for the offending alarm, snatches his phone off the table, and silences it.

“Fuck,” Louis mutters, breath ruffling Harry’s hair. He lays there quietly for a moment, toes rubbing absently against Harry’s ankles, before rolling away and out of bed so he can pad off to the bathroom. Half-conscious, Harry listens to the faint sound of running water, to Louis rummaging around in his closet, the rustle of fabric as he gets dressed.

Harry blinks his eyes open when he feels a cool hand on his face, finds Louis hovering over him, hair done and dressed for work.

“Hey,” Louis whispers, pushing Harry’s hair off his forehead. “I have to go to work, but you stay. Sleep, have breakfast, shower, watch some telly.”

Harry tries to respond, but it comes out an incoherent mumble. Louis just laughs and presses a kiss to his temple.

“Go back to sleep, love. Text me when you’re up.”

Harry is asleep again before he even hears the door shut.

 

The sun is shining bright when Harry fully wakes. He takes a minute to stretch, working the sleep stiffness from his joints, then rolls over onto his belly, face-down in Louis’ pillow. It smells warm and familiar, like Louis’ coconut shampoo and the spice of his aftershave. Harry buries a smile in the pillow before forcing himself out of bed and toward the shower.

Louis’ shower is an enormous, luxurious thing, with a rain shower head and half a dozen side jets. It’s Harry’s favorite thing about staying over. Well, after cuddles with Louis. He turns the water on piping hot and slips inside, lets the water ease the soreness in his back he just can’t seem to get rid of lately. The bathroom fills with steam as Harry washes his hair, the sweet coconut a soothing scent on the air.

Harry squeezes some out into his hands to use as body wash, but he hisses when he goes to scrub his chest, nipples sore and overly sensitive. Frowning, Harry rinses himself off and goes to bundle himself up in towels, but the soft fabric feels rough and abrasive against his chest. He loops the towel around his waist, instead, and goes to rummage through Louis’ closet for a pair of joggers. He’ll deal with his nipples later. First, he needs breakfast.

~*~

Harry loves Fridays. Well, he loves every day of the week (except Mondays, fuck Mondays), but he especially loves Fridays. He only schedules morning appointments on Fridays because Saturdays are Louis and lads days, and Harry needs Friday afternoons to cook and tidy.

His last appointment of the day, a little boy whose dads are commemorating his first birthday with a photo shoot, finishes up just after noon, leaving Harry plenty of time to head over to Tescos.

“Sorry Mr. Styles, do you mind if I have a seat and my husband settles everything up with you?” Harry looks up from his computer. John, Harry's contact while arranging the photoshoot, is standing by the wall with a hand fisted in his back and a grimace on his face. He explains, “Pregnancy wreaks havoc on my joints.”

“Oh!” Harry blinks in surprise. “Congratulations. Yes, of course, please have a seat.”

He waves toward the plush armchairs along the wall in the studio, then turns his attention to John’s husband, who's absolutely beaming.

“We were going to wait until Eric was at least two, but John just has to _think_ the words ‘I want a baby’ and boom, he's pregnant.” He glances back at John, a soft look on his face. “Poor thing, his back was a mess when he was pregnant with Eric. Looks like this time won't be much different.”

Something niggles at the back of Harry's mind, but he just makes polite conversation and finishes up the transaction, then explains his selection and editing process. It's after 1 o’clock by the time they leave, and Harry sighs, shutting and locking the door behind them. Harry absolutely loves his job, but it's hard sometimes, seeing so many happy couples and families when he's so painfully single. Pushing that thought aside for now, Harry gathers up his things and heads out the back. He needs to pick up groceries, hand soap, and toothpaste on his way home, and he wants a nap and some yoga time before he starts to cook.

Tescos is nice and empty when Harry arrives, most adults either at work or picking their children up from school. Harry pushes his trolley over to the deserted produce section, stops and glances around to make sure no one can see him, then reaches up underneath the hem of his jumper and unbuttons his jeans with a small sigh of relief. They've been pinching at his skin all day. He lifts his jumper up so he can look at the reddened skin and rub at the indents left behind by the button and waistband. He hasn't gained any weight, but all of his trousers have started to feel just a bit too tight, and Harry doesn't know what to make of it. Maybe his break from running has redistributed some of the weight a bit, he muses, pushing his cart over to the leafy greens. Maybe that's why his back has been hurting so much, as well. Doesn't explain his sore nipples, though. He’s taken to walking around shirtless as much as he can - which, okay, is not much of a change, if he’s being honest. Harry quite likes being naked. It’s liberating.

Trolley full of a mixture of health food and junk food, Harry turns down the personal hygiene aisle to grab some soap and toothpaste. His phone chimes with a text halfway down the aisle, so Harry stops to tug his phone out of his pocket and check who’s messaged him.

Niall: _can u make that kale n bacon salad again thanks h !_

Smiling and shaking his head, Harry tells Niall he's got it covered, then pockets his phone and looks up to reorient himself. Dish soap on the left, and -

Harry's heart stops in his chest and the blood drains from his face as his brain goes fuzzy. It takes a minute, mind working at a slug’s pace, but all of the puzzle pieces slot into place. He reaches out to the right with one trembling hand, then yanks it back as if he's been burned. Aching back, tight trousers, sore nipples, tired all the time... Harry thinks back to Louis’ joking, “are you sure you're not pregnant” comment the other week, nausea welling up in his throat. He can't be. He hasn't - “Oh, fuck,” Harry whispers.

Stomach roiling now, Harry hurriedly grabs a bunch at random and drops them in the trolley, then races down the aisle. He manages to snag a tube of toothpaste, not even sure if it's the one he likes, before swinging the trolley toward the registers. He needs to get home _now_.

The walk home is the longest five minutes of Harry’s life, bags in his hands weighing heavier with every step. By the time he reaches his building and climbs the five flights of stairs to his flat, he’s in a near panic. He manages to get inside and put his groceries away before the panic overtakes him and his hands start to shake uncontrollably. Bag of pregnancy tests clutched in his hand and heart in his throat, Harry walks as calmly as he can toward the bathroom and sets the bag down on the vanity before sinking to the floor, legs too weak to hold him up any longer. He’s not sure he can do this, is certain he can’t do this alone.

Breaths coming out labored now, Harry fumbles his phone out of his pocket with trembling fingers and sends Louis a garbled, panicky text. He just manages to press send and drop his phone on the floor before he has to drag himself over to the toilet so he can pry the lid open and empty the contents of his stomach.

His phone is buzzing against the tile floor, but Harry can’t move, can’t let go of the toilet bowl for fear he’ll have to vomit again. There are tears tracking down his cheeks and his mouth tastes sour and he’s broken out into a cold sweat, and Harry is absolutely miserable. Groaning, Harry wipes his mouth with some toilet paper and closes the lid so he can flush. He’s still nauseous, but he needs to clean this taste out of his mouth before he can even think about taking one of the tests.

Harry heaves himself to his feet and brushes his teeth slowly, carefully, then stoops down to grab his phone. There are three missed calls from Louis, followed by a text that simply reads: _on my way_. Grateful, relieved, horribly nervous, Harry slumps down next to the toilet just in case and pillows his head on his arms. He can’t believe this is happening. He’s wanted a family for so long - since he was sixteen, at least - but he’d always imagined it would be with someone he loved, not someone he pulled at a bar and rode in the back of his car in a half-drunken haze. He never even - he never _does_ things like that, he’d just been drunk and a little sad because Louis had been dancing with someone in the back of the pub rather than him, and the drummer from the band that had just performed was fit.

He’s crying again, but Harry does nothing to stop the tears from coming, makes no moves to wipe his face. He’s nearly cried himself into a doze, arms crossed over the lid of the toilet seat and cheek pillowed in the crook of his elbow, when he hears his front door open and Louis calling his name. Lifting his head wearily, Harry opens his mouth to call out to Louis, but nothing comes out.

It doesn’t matter, though, Louis knows where to find him. There’s a sharp rap on the door before it’s swinging open and Louis is scooting inside. Without even asking, he shuts the door softly behind him, something Harry is incredibly grateful for. It feels safer, somehow, when they’re enclosed like this. Like they’re shut off from the world, just the two of them.

Harry blinks up at Louis, bleary-eyed from crying. The first thing he notices is the concern written across Louis’ face. Second is that he’s still dressed in his work clothes, carefully pressed slacks and a pale blue button-up. Louis gives no thought to dropping to his knees beside Harry, though, doesn’t even blink as he shuffles across the floor on his knees until he’s right in front of Harry. Louis brushes Harry’s hair out of his face and swipes at the tear tracks on his cheeks, then pulls Harry into a hug, not caring that he’s snotty and disgusting.

That just makes Harry cry even harder. He clutches at the back of Louis’ shirt, crushing the fabric between his fingers, while Louis strokes his hair and shushes him, rocking them both gently. Only when Harry has calmed down, tears subsiding into hiccupping gasps, does Louis pull back and ask, “Harry, what’s wrong?”

He feels a bit calmer, just from Louis’ presence, but he can’t quite bring himself to say the words just yet. Instead, Harry gestures toward the sink, where the unassuming Tescos bag is sitting, still unpacked. Confused, Louis gets up so he can go look inside. The noise he makes when he sees what’s in the bag has Harry’s eyes sliding shut and his bottom lip trembling again.

Louis’ voice is barely more than a whisper when he says, “Harry, I thought you said...”

“Um.” Harry’s voice trembles when he explains, “There was one night like two months ago, when we went to that pub show -” He cuts himself off, nauseous all over again. This is not how any of this was supposed to happen.

“That time you disappeared on me?”

“I went home with someone,” Harry whispers. And there’s panic crawling up his throat again, voice just short of hysteria when he asks, “Lou, what am I going to tell my mum? She’s going to be so disappointed with me -”

Louis drops the bag back into the sink and crouches down in front of Harry, cups his face with both hands and says firmly, “Hey. _No one_ is going to be disappointed with you. Your mum loves you and supports you in everything you do, no matter what. You haven’t gone and murdered anyone, you know. And even if you had, I’d still be here asking you where you want to hide the body.”

That pulls a weak laugh out of Harry, but it only lasts a short moment, and then he’s back to hitching breaths and a sharp coil of panic in his chest.

“Now come on, love, let’s get up and take a few of these tests, just to be sure. We’ll make you a doctor’s appointment in the morning.” Louis shifts his grip to Harry’s elbows and helps him to his feet, coaxing him gently. “Come on, that’s it.”

Louis stands him in front of the toilet, then walks over to the sink to open a few of the tests.

“Bought out the whole shop, did you?” he mutters, lining a few of them up along the sink. He looks up when he doesn’t hear any noise from Harry, offers an encouraging smile when he catches Harry watching him. “I don’t hear the sound of your trousers hitting the floor, come on Haz.”

Harry manages a snort, mutters, “I never imagined hearing those words from you in quite this context.” But he lifts up his jumper and unzips his jeans dutifully.

Louis ends up having to bring Harry a gigantic glass of water to chug, but after that, it only takes a couple of minutes. Louis passes Harry tests for him to piss on, then takes them back so he can set them along the edge of the sink to wait. Once he’s exhausted the supply, Harry zips back up and glances over at the sink nervously. Louis moves aside so he can wash his hands, careful not to knock any of the tests into the sink or drip water on them.

Before he can even dry his hands, Louis is reaching out for his wrist, tugging Harry across the room and onto his lap where he’s perched on the lid of the toilet. He wraps his arms around Harry’s waist before he can squirm away and hugs him close, cheek resting against Harry’s back.

Sighing, Harry rests his hands on top of Louis’ and leans into his embrace, drawing strength from him. Eyes closed, Harry whispers, “Thank you for coming tonight.”

“Anytime,” comes Louis’ answer, chest rumbling against Harry’s back. “Anytime, anywhere. Hey.” Louis lifts his head so Harry can hear him more clearly, rubs one of his hands over Harry’s belly. “I know I’ve been asking for like three years now, but why don’t you move in with me?”

Before Harry can even respond, Louis is pressing on, “You live in a one bedroom flat, Hazza. You have to climb five flights of stairs every day. How are you going to do that when you’re six months pregnant? _Nine_ months? Carrying a baby and a buggy? Where is the baby going to sleep? Come on, I have two bedrooms I’m not even using and only two flights of stairs inside the house, I can help you -”

“Louis,” Harry sighs, cutting him off. He twists around in Louis’ lap, turns sideways so that he can wrap both arms around Louis’ neck and press a soft, grateful kiss to his cheek. “I love you. But I’m not moving in with you.” He shakes his head before Louis can protest, reasons, “You work so hard, you don’t need this sort of distraction in your home. Plus, you’re single. How will you ever find Mr. Right with me and a baby taking over your house?”

Louis mutters something under his breath, not quite meeting Harry’s eyes, but before Harry can ask him to repeat, Louis’ phone is chiming. Harry’s stomach drops. Oh, no.

Louis’ grip on Harry’s waist tightens momentarily, then he looks up at Harry and asks, “Ready?”

“No,” Harry whispers, but he stands up anyway, reaches out for Louis’ hand immediately. Louis takes it without question, and they walk over to the sink together, fingers intertwined, Louis’ hand like a lifeline, an anchor in this storm-tossed sea.

Harry knows what the tests are going to say before he even looks, but there are nerves fluttering in his belly anyway. He squeezes Louis’ hand in a deathgrip before peeking at the first test lined up along the sink. A pink plus sign.

“No need to consult the box on that one,” Harry mutters, moving on to the next one. Positive. Positive, positive, positive. Every single test along the lip of the sink is positive. Harry blows out a long, unsteady breath.

There are silent tears tracking down his cheeks again, but he thinks his moment of panic is gone, replaced by a strange, sort of removed sense of calm. There’s no use crying about it anymore, he reasons with himself. What’s done is done, may as well gets used to the idea of being pregnant. Harry presses his free hand to his stomach, still mostly flat, nothing noticeable there quite yet. He can’t be more than two months along, if he’s remembering the dates correctly.

“Well,” he says, swallowing thickly and turning to face Louis, “that’s that, isn’t it.”

Louis’ eyes are warm, his smile soft when he says, “Congratulations, Hazza. It’s going to be okay.”

Harry’s eyes flutter shut when Louis reaches up to tuck his hair behind his ear, the simple act more calming than anything he’s said so far. Harry has no idea what he’d do without Louis.

“Alright,” Louis says, tone suddenly brusque. He lets go of Harry’s hand so he can sweep all but one of the tests into the rubbish bin. He sets the last one aside, tells Harry, “You’re going to want to keep that one. Now come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

When Harry just stands there, still a bit numb, Louis shakes his head and starts to undress him, himself. He lifts Harry’s jumper over his head, smiling at the unbuttoned jeans. He taps Harry’s belly and says, “We’ll go shopping on Sunday,” then continues on his mission, unzipping Harry’s trousers and pushing them down his legs. He steps back so Harry can kick them off, then swivels around to turn on the shower. “I’ll let you deal with your pants. You shower, I’m going to order some food. Is there anything you don’t want?”

Harry considers for a moment, trying to remember what he knows about pregnancy and what foods should be avoided. “Uh, no seafood I think.”

“Got it. Okay, you shower, I’ll take care of the rest.” And in the blink of an eye, Louis is gone, door left open in case Harry needs anything else.

Harry blinks back another sudden onslaught of tears, but these aren’t sad or panicked, they’re just. Grateful. Overwhelmed. Shucking his pants, Harry steps into the shower and lets loose the sob that’s been welling up in his chest, lets the hot water run down his face and slowly unknit the tension that’s settled in his shoulders.

Once he’s all cried out, Harry shampoos his hair and scrubs at his body, washing himself clean, ready for a fresh start. New beginnings.

~*~

 “Hazza? I texted you from downstairs ten minutes ago, are you ready?”

Harry vaguely registers the sound of Louis’ voice, completely engrossed in what he’s reading on his computer. He starts to answer, to let Louis know where he is, but then a photo catches his eye and he loses his train of thought, captivated by the article once again.

“Hazza?” This time, Louis’ voice is coming from his doorway. Harry looks up, eyes only half-focused, and finds Louis looking at him in confusion. “Hazza, what are you - did you forget about shopping today? Why aren’t you dressed?”

“What?” Harry asks muzzily, eyes dropping back to the screen of his laptop where it's perched on his thighs. “Lou, did you know my baby is the size of a kumquat?”

Louis makes a vaguely baffled noise and asks, “What’s a kumquat?”

“I’ve seen it on Chopped, I think it’s a fruit. Less than three centimeters long,” Harry says with wonder, looking down at his still flat belly. He really wants to poke it, wants to feel the baby in there, but he’s afraid he’ll hurt it. Instead, he cups his hand over his stomach and pats it gently. “The site says it’s already kicking, but I don’t feel a thing.”

“It’s probably still too small, Haz,” Louis says softly, crouching at Harry’s side. He looks up at Harry, eyes wide, and raises his hand, asks, “May I?”

“Of course,” Harry murmurs, moving his hand aside. Louis’ fingers are cold against his overheated skin - yet another thing he can thank pregnancy for - but his touch is exceedingly gentle, the chill of his hand soothing. Harry’s heart feels impossibly light in his chest. It feels lovely. “It’s so soft, I thought it would be firm.”

“Hey!” Harry pushes Louis’ hand away, tears springing to his eyes, even though he’s not sure _why_.

Louis’ eyes go even wider and his mouth falls open in surprise. “What? Oh my god, Haz, don’t cry, I didn’t mean - I just thought - when my mum was pregnant, I remember her belly feeling really hard, but that was ages ago and she was out to here -” He makes a big, round gesture around his midsection, voice a bit panicky and words stumbling over each other. “And she had two babies filling it up. You’re - I didn’t mean anything, honest.”

Louis’ voice is just barely a whisper at the end, cheeks flushed and lips pressed together in a worried grimace. He looks horrified with himself, hands fluttering uselessly in the air, and it calms Harry down a bit. Harry sniffles and swipes the back of his hand across his cheek, the urge to cry fading quickly into embarrassment.

“God, I’m sorry, that was such an overreaction. Baby hormones,” he sighs, frowning apologetically.

“Fuck, you scared me so badly,” Louis wheezes, covering his face with his hands for a moment and taking a few slow, even breaths. “Okay.”

He straightens back up and holds a hand out to Harry, a determined expression on his face.

“Come on, Sunshine, up you go. You’ve got an appointment in three hours and we have lots of shopping to do.”

Harry closes his laptop and sets it down on his bed, then places his hand in Louis’ so he can help him to his feet. Harry rolls his eyes when Louis doesn’t let go and leads him over to the closet, grumbles, “I can walk on my own, I’m not even showing yet.”

Louis doesn’t listen, just walks with Harry until they’re stood in front of the bureau where Harry keeps his jumpers. “I did some research and found a pregnancy shop not far from here, it looks quite nice. I thought we could start there. They have clothes as well as mementos, like those journals you put baby scans in and stuff.”

“Louis,” Harry murmurs, touched by the effort Louis has put into this. Shaking his head, Harry wraps his arms around Louis’ shoulders and turns his face into his neck, whispers, “Thank you.”

Louis’ arms come around his waist and Harry feels him press a kiss to the top of his head. “Of course,” Louis says, muffled by his hair. “Anything for you, H.”

By the time Harry had woken up on Saturday, Louis had already scheduled him an appointment with what is apparently the best obstetrician in Manchester, as well as ordered some groceries to be delivered - a veritable feast of fruits, vegetables, and proteins that he had insisted were excellent sources of vitamins and nutrients for the baby. On Sunday, he had brought an enormous pile of work over to Harry’s flat so he could get stuff done and take time off on Monday, and still be there to watch over Harry in case he needed anything. He had even sat with Harry while he called his mum and told her about the baby, Harry’s hands clasped tightly between his own for reassurance.

At this rate, Louis is going to be moving into Harry’s flat, instead of the other way around.

“Okay,” Harry sighs, pulling out of Louis’ embrace. “Time to find a pair of jeans that actually closes.” He hums as he rifles through his clothes, alternating between the drawers and the hanging racks in his closet. Finally, he settles on a particularly stretchy pair from one of his favorite brands. He frowns as he holds them up to himself in the mirror on the inside of his closet door. “D’you think Paige has a pregnancy line?”

Louis settles himself on the end of Harry’s bed and fishes his phone out of his pocket. “You get dressed, I’ll google.”

Harry ends up having to fold the waistband over once, so that it rides just below his waistline, then throws on a billowy jumper so that no one can tell. He slips into a pair of boots and runs wet fingers through his hair to try and undo what sleep has done to his curls, then turns to look at Louis.

Louis smiles up at him, pocketing his phone. “Ready, love?” At Harry’s nod, he stands up and offers Harry his arm. Shaking his head but unable to stop a smile from spreading across his face, Harry tucks his hand through the crook of his elbow and lets Louis lead him out of the room. “Slight change in plans, I found your jeans.”

“Oh,” Harry breathes, suddenly excited. He probably won’t be able to wear them yet, but just the prospect of preparing has him more excited than he’d have expected. It’s going to be a busy day.

 

The boot of Louis’ Range Rover is completely filled up with bags and Harry’s cheeks are flushed a happy shade of pink by the time they park at the doctor’s office. He’s got jeans, tops, and nicer clothes for every stage of his pregnancy, as well as a couple new pairs of boots and some banana ice cream sitting happily in his belly.

The office is on the ground floor of a building of flats, situated between a flower shop and a tattoo parlor. As strange as it is, the location and surrounding businesses make Harry feel better, somehow, and he’s smiling broadly, jittery and nervous and excited, when Louis pulls the door open for him and guides him through with a hand in the small of his back. The waiting room is small and homey, with faded, overstuffed loveseats and straight-backed chairs for an easier time sitting and standing up with a big belly in the way.

Harry signs himself in with a trembling hand, then curls up on one of the loveseats, Louis close beside him. Harry burrows into his side immediately, arms around his waist and head on his shoulder. Louis drags him closer with an arm across his shoulders and Harry hums happily, contentedly. He’s warm, jumper soft under Harry’s chin, and he smells exactly like he always does, comforting and reassuring. Harry tips his head back so he can smile up at Louis, whispers, “Thank you for today, Lou. It means more to me than you know.”

Louis doesn’t respond. Instead, he just ducks his head so he can press a firm, lingering kiss to Harry’s forehead. They sit like that until the nurse calls him back, Harry tucked into Louis’ side and Louis’ cheek resting on top of Harry’s head.

The jitters start up again once the nurse does poke her head out to call, “Styles? Harry?”

Harry grabs Louis’ hand in a death grip, not even giving him the option of waiting out here for him. He has to let go of Louis so that he can piss in a cup and the nurse can weigh him and take his vitals, but as soon as he’s perched on the examination table, he reaches out and wiggles his fingers impatiently in Louis’ direction.

When the doctor walks in, Harry straightens out of his slouch, rubbing his forehead where it’s been pressed against Louis’ shoulder for the past few minutes. There are probably angry red creases in his skin from Louis’ jumper, but the doctor just smiles kindly at him. Harry’s grip on Louis’ hand tightens and he swallows nervously.

“Hello, Harry, I’m Dr. Martin. How are you?” He offers Harry his hand, but Harry refuses to let go of Louis’, so he ends up having to use his left hand. It’s awkward, but Dr. Martin doesn’t comment, just keeps on smiling pleasantly.

“I’m good, how are you?” Harry asks politely.

“Lovely, thank you. So,” he rifles through Harry’s brand new chart. There’s just one piece of paper with some hastily scrawled notes from the nurse. He looks up with a smile, and he really seems quite lovely. Harry likes him already. “I hear you’re expecting.”

Harry lets out a slow, uneven breath, but he’s grinning when he nods. Absolutely beaming, actually, so hard his cheeks are beginning to ache. He had been unsure at first, had flip-flopped between excitement and acute sadness for the first couple of days since finding out, but he thinks he’s found his peace.

“I’ve only taken a few home pregnancy tests -”

“Six of them,” Louis cuts in, smirking at Harry. “All six were positive.”

Harry just rolls his eyes and continues, “I took some home pregnancy tests on Friday, and I’m pretty sure I’ve been feeling the symptoms for at least a few weeks. I think -” Harry’s gaze flicks to Louis, then back to Dr. Martin. “I think I might be about 10 weeks along? Just based off some calculations.”

Dr. Martin’s eyebrows shoot up, impressed. “Well, you’ve done your homework, haven’t you? Alright, then, Harry, I’m going to examine you right quick, then I’ll bring the scanner over.”

Harry reluctantly lets go of Louis’ hand so that Dr. Martin can stand in front of him and ask him questions while he does a basic examination. No, he’s never been pregnant before; no, he doesn’t smoke and only drinks socially; no, there is no family medical history to be concerned about. He tells Dr. Martin about his symptoms, then waits quietly while he listens to his heart and does a breathing test. The nurse slips back into the room to take a blood sample at one point, and then Dr. Martin is instructing Harry to lay back and lift up his shirt while he wheels the scanner over.

The initial process is exactly as Harry has imagined it would go, just as he’s seen in countless films and television shows, but it’s _real_ this time and it’s happening to _him_. He feels Louis’ fingers slot between his own, is grateful for the contact when Dr. Martin presses the ultrasound wand against his belly and flips the screen on.

At first, all Harry can see is gray snow against a black background. But then. Then a small pocket appears on the screen, and nestled right inside of that pocket is -

“Oh my god.” Quite suddenly, there are tears falling freely down Harry’s face, an overwhelming feeling of awe filling his chest fit to burst. There’s a momentary punch of sadness for the fact that Harry is doing this alone, that the father isn’t standing by his side, but then he remembers that he has Louis, that he has _this_ , a baby, another human life growing inside of him, depending on him for its very existence, and the sadness is obliterated, replaced with just blinding, all-encompassing joy.

Harry stares at the screen through his tears, at the tiny, gray baby shape on the screen. It moves while they watch, waving its little hands and feet, and Harry wishes so fiercely that he could feel it moving at this moment in time. _Soon_ , he thinks, tapping his side in lieu of patting his gel-covered belly.

“Well, Harry, I’d say your guess is pretty bang-on, you look to be about ten weeks along. Your baby currently measures about two and a half centimeters in length and looks quite active. You should be able to tell the gender in about four weeks, if you choose to. We’ll make an appointment for another scan within the next four weeks. I’d say, judging by the baby’s size, give it about three. We’ll do an ultrasound just to make sure the baby is healthy, then we’ll go from there. How does that sound?”

“That sounds fine,” Harry whispers, not sure what normal protocol is anyway. He had read about the two important scans online that morning, so he knows this next one is a big one. It makes him a little nervous, but he’s positive that if he asks, Louis will go with him.

“Wonderful!” Dr. Martin enthuses. “Alright, let me just take a snapshot for you, then we’ll clean you up and you can be on your way. Do you have any questions?”

Harry glances up at Louis, unsure. Should he have questions? He’s got about twenty blogs and websites open in tabs on his laptop, and his mum has been texting him a steady stream of advice since he told her on Sunday, but he feels like he _should_ be asking questions, like it’s expected of him.

“Erm. Well, I guess, how much exercise is alright? Like, I live on the fifth floor with no lift, but I also like to run and do yoga and swim, is that. Is any of that bad for the baby?”

Dr. Martin smiles up at Harry while he wipes the gel off his stomach and cleans off the scanner. “All of that is perfectly fine. You might get fatigued, especially during the first trimester, and of course, later in the third, but none of that is harmful. I would advise against any sort of weight lifting, or heavy lifting in general, but otherwise that all sounds just fine.”

That’s pretty much what Harry had been expecting. He doesn’t really have any other questions at the moment, so they wrap up the appointment and schedule his next scan, then Louis drives Harry home. He insists on carrying the majority of the bags up the stairs for Harry, even though none of them are heavy, then again on helping him put everything away. By the time they’re done, Harry is exhausted. He curls up at the foot of the bed to watch Louis fold jumpers - something Harry _knows_ he doesn’t even do with his own clothes - his jeans unbuttoned and rolled down just a bit more. His belly pooches out a bit when he lays on his side, and it’s both thrilling and terrifying.

Smiling softly, Harry rucks the hem of his jumper up a bit so he can trail the tips of his fingers over his stomach in aimless patterns, changing directions in tune with the song Louis is singing under his breath. His eyelids grow heavy, but he fights to keep them open. Louis looks so serene, so relaxed like this, and he’s lovely to watch, wiry muscles playing under sun-golden skin, his hair soft and feathered against his forehead, rather than pulled up into a quiff like he wears it for work. The pull of sleep is too strong, though, the soft melody in Louis’ high, pretty voice too soothing, and before long, he’s slipping into an easy, content sleep.

~*~

By the end of the week, Harry has two projects going.

He buys measuring tape so that he can measure the girth of his belly and record the measurements in the pregnancy tracking book Louis bought him. (Apparently, he had purchased it while Harry was in the fitting room on their shopping trip, had even asked the cashier to gift-wrap it, and had then presented it to Harry that evening. Harry cried when he unwrapped it and has teared up three times since, just looking at the book and thinking about Louis’ thoughtfulness.)

Harry has also set up a tripod in his living room so that he can take a photo of his belly from the side every morning. He has plans for a collage, and perhaps even a flipbook, if he can keep his position steady enough from day to day, but he needs help figuring out which spot in the room would be best and how to position himself. He invites Louis over for breakfast on Saturday so that he can get his opinion while it’s bright out, sun streaming in through the wide windows and illuminating the room.

It’s chilly out for mid-May, but Harry’s hormones have been up and down all week, so he’s got the windows in the kitchen and his bedroom open as wide as they’ll go and is walking around in just a pair of running shorts, slung low on his hips so that the waistband sits below the slight thickness of his belly. It’s just barely noticeable, and probably only so to Harry because he knows his own body so well, but it’s so bloody _exciting_ that Harry thinks he would probably be walking around half-naked even if it was -10 outside, just so he could catch glimpses of his teeny, tiny bump in reflective surfaces and show it off when Louis strolls into the flat, dropping his keys and wallet on the table before seeking Harry out.

“Harry? Why are the windows - oh.”

Harry turns from where he’s been hunched over the stove, frying up a couple of omelettes. There is bacon in the oven, a potato hash going in another skillet, and freshly squeezed orange juice chilling in the refrigerator and Harry feels a bit like a domestic goddess, with his hair pulled back into a bun and breakfast scenting the air.

“Good morning, Lou, I hope you’re hungry,” Harry chirps, turning back around so that he can lift the corner of one of the omelettes gingerly. It’s perfect, and Harry does a little happy dance on his way to grab a couple of plates from the cupboard. “You have perfect timing!”

He slides an omelette onto each plate, adds a healthy helping of potato hash, then pulls the bacon out of the oven and divvies up the slices between the two of them. He twirls toward the table, whistling as he sets the plates down, then spins over to the refrigerator for the juice.

“You can fix some tea if you want, but I just squeezed this and it’s delicious.” Harry waves the carafe in Louis’ direction, eyebrows raised in question. Louis is still stood in the kitchen doorway, eyes tracking Harry across the room.

“I’ll have some juice, yeah,” he says quietly before shedding his coat and moving toward the table. “This is quite the spread, Curly.”

Harry shrugs and pats his belly, pooched out a little with the way he’s bent over the table pouring juice for Louis. “What the baby wants, the baby gets.”

“And Kumquat wants omelettes and fresh o.j.?” Louis’ eyebrows are raised in disbelief when Harry sits down and looks across at him. “When my mum was pregnant, all she wanted was Haribo. You look lovely, by the way. It’s not a myth, what they say - you’re glowing.”

Ducking his head, Harry flushes, pleased, and preens a bit, twirling one of the stray locks of hair that’s come loose from his bun around his finger. Pregnancy suits him, he thinks. He knows he’s only eleven weeks into this one, but he already can’t help anticipating more of them - once he finds his soulmate, of course. He wants a whole brood, so that his future home is filled with the sounds of life and love and happiness.

Sighing rather wistfully now, Harry lifts his gaze so he can watch Louis as he takes his first bite of the omelette. The spring sun is bright on Louis’ face, washing his eyes out, turning his hair and eyelashes to spun gold and his skin the color of honey. He’s absolutely stunning.

Harry doesn’t realize he’s been staring until Louis’ foot nudges against his own underneath the table. He startles out of it, blinking rapidly, and deliberately ignores Louis’ smirk, asks, “Well? How is it?”

“It’s delicious, as always, love.” He nudges Harry’s ankle again, indicates Harry’s plate with a jerk of his chin. “You should eat yours before it goes cold.”

Suddenly remembering how hungry he is, Harry picks up his fork and tucks in. Louis doesn’t move his leg away, his foot a warm, comforting weight against Harry’s own while they eat.

“Those eggs were perfect,” Louis declares, polishing off his omelette with a flourish of his fork.

“Good, I’ll trade you the rest of mine for the rest of your bacon.”

Harry wiggles his fingers towards Louis’ plate and Louis laughs, pushing it closer to him. “Go on, then, give Kumquat what it wants.”

Harry cheers, waggling his eyebrows excitedly as he snags a slice and pops the end into his mouth. The fact that the bacon has been baked, not fried, makes him feel just the smallest bit better about eating so much of it, but he also makes a mental note to do an extra half hour of yoga later. He doesn’t mind gaining pregnancy weight - is anticipating it, even - but that doesn’t mean he needs to go overboard too soon.

Once they’ve finished and their plates have been cleaned, Harry shepherds Louis back into the living room. He stands in the corner, hands fisted on his hips, and surveys the small room critically. The panelling alongside the bookcases would make for a lovely, contrasting backdrop, but he’s not sure he likes the lighting along that wall. He could take the photos against the closed kitchen door, or perhaps against the blank stretch of wall beside the front door, but he can’t decide if he likes the plain white backdrop.

He voices these concerns to Louis, who gazes around the room appropriately, brow furrowed in consideration. “I mean,” he says slowly, scratching at the weekend stubble along his jaw, “you’re the photographer here, so you’d really know best. But if you ask me, I think the panelling would be nicest, if you’re planning to do them shirtless. It’s wood, too, so you could even mark it with a bit of tape so you’re always in the same spot and it won’t ruin anything when you peel it off afterward.”

Harry taps a finger against his lips, considering. “Good thinking, Lou.” He aims a beaming smile at Louis, then skips over to where he’s left the tripod, leaning against the side of the sofa. “Okay, now just to figure out how to frame it in.”

He locks his camera onto the top of the tripod, then kneels down, grunting a little when the position tugs uncomfortably at the small of his back. He just needs to be able to see through the viewfinder so he can adjust the height and angle.

“Harry,” Louis tsks, coming up behind him and hefting him to his feet with hands on his hips. “Stop it, I’ve got this. You go stand against the wall, I’ll position the camera.”

Harry moves over to the wall obediently and turns to the side so that Louis gets a proper idea of what he needs to frame in. He peeks down at his belly, frowning a little. “Probably should have done this before breakfast,” he comments mildly, poking his belly gently. It’s significantly rounder than it had been before, but he just needs to digest a bit. Maybe Louis will go on a walk with him.

Harry is completely zoned out, doodling idly on his stomach with the tip of his finger, chin tucked down against his chest, when he hears a shutter click. His head jerks up, eyes wide in surprise, and he finds Louis grinning at him, his phone held up as he takes rapid-fire photos of Harry, standing there with his mouth hanging open and his hands on his stomach.

“Lou!” He says indignantly.

“I’m sorry,” Louis giggles, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “You just looked so _cute_.”

“Delete those photos immediately,” Harry demands, turning toward Louis with what he hopes is a menacing expression on his face.

Louis’ eyes dance with mirth as he makes a show of locking his phone and tucking it into his pocket. Growling a little, Harry advances on Louis, hands outstretched. He’s going to get that phone and delete them, himself. Louis just laughs uproariously and takes a step back for Harry’s every step forward, completely unthreatened.

Gearing himself up, Harry launches himself at Louis, crowing with triumph when he manages to tackle Louis to the sofa, hands grappling for Louis’ pockets and the offending phone. Louis quickly gains the upper hand, though, flipping them over embarrassingly easily and sitting across Harry’s thighs, hands pinning his wrists to the cushion.

Harry’s pulse is hammering at the base of his throat, chest heaving and lips parted as he pants out into the quiet air of the room. He hadn’t really exerted himself that much, but this is... surprisingly hot, and Harry bites his lip, willing himself not to get hard while his best mate is sitting on his legs. He’s always known Louis is gorgeous, had even fancied him for a while after they first met back at uni, but Louis had been dating someone at the time, and that was that. He was off limits, and it just kind of stayed that way. That doesn’t mean Harry can’t recognize that he’s bloody fit, though, and Harry hasn’t had sex in over two months - and even that had been the first time in ages.

He shakes those thoughts forcefully out of his head and just lies still, looking up at Louis and waiting for him to do something. They’re both quiet for a minute as they watch each other. At one point, Louis’ fingers flex around Harry’s wrists and he shifts a bit, but then he stills again and the silence spans on.

Finally, the corner of Louis’ mouth tilts up into a smile and he asks, “Are you ready to behave?”

The words send a secret thrill up Harry’s spine and his nostrils flare. He tamps down on that bolt of heat too, though, and just nods jerkily, fingertips scrubbing subtly against the tweed sofa cushion. _Do not get hard, do not get hard,_ Harry chants in his head. It’s working, but Harry still breathes a silent sigh of relief when Louis lets go of his wrists and clambers off of him.

Harry doesn’t move for a moment, just watches Louis fuss nervously with his fringe before he says, “Why don’t we go walk off breakfast, then we can finish setting up the camera and take your first pic?”

Harry only hesitates for a split second, then nods. He gets to his feet with a quiet, “Be right back,” and heads back into his bedroom to get dressed.

Once safely enclosed in his room, Harry glares down at his belly and scolds, “It’s bad enough that you’re messing with my body temperature, do you have to mess with those hormones, too?”

There’s no answer from the baby, but Harry takes that as surrender. Pausing by his bed, Harry takes a second to shake off the residual, lingering embers of arousal before going to choose an outfit for the walk.

He’s already pregnant with a stranger’s baby, the last thing he needs right now is to be lusting after his best friend.

~*~

Harry is getting ready to head over to Louis’ for lads night when there's a knock on his door. Bemused, Harry tucks the last of the tupperware containers into a tote bag and goes to open the front door.

He's not sure who it could be. Maybe one of his neighbors locked themselves out of their flat and needs a place to wait, or perhaps someone needs to borrow a cup of sugar. Harry doesn't think these things actually happen outside of films, but hey, maybe this is his meet cute.

He opens the door cautiously just in case, though, lets out a sigh when he sees that it’s just Louis.

It takes a second for everything to catch up with him, mind still stuck on the film-worthy meet cute idea, but then his brow furrows and he asks, “What are you doing here? We’re at your house tonight, aren’t we?”

“I came to pick you up,” Louis replies, breezing past Harry and into the flat. “You’re not walking to my house while carrying heavy containers.”

Harry opens his mouth to protest, insist that this is ridiculous, he’s _perfectly_ capable of making it through a ten minute walk with a couple of kilos of food on his arm, but Louis just glares at him, daring him to argue, and Harry’s mouth snaps shut. He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything else, just waves Louis toward the kitchen so he can grab the bags. He’s just being protective, Harry can’t fault Louis for wanting to take care of his best mate.

Louis emerges a moment later with a bag in each hand. “Ready to go, love? Where is your jacket?”

“It’s only a few blocks -”

“Hazza.” Louis levels him with a look. “Put your jacket on. It’s cold outside and you’re pregnant, don’t take any risks.”

He sets the bags of food down so that he can take Harry’s jacket off the hook himself and help Harry into it. Sighing, Harry turns around and slips his hands into the coat, mutters, “Yes, daddy.”

There’s an odd, choking noise from behind Harry and he turns around, concerned. Louis is standing there with his hands still raised in mid-air, eyes wide and cheeks flaming red.

Harry’s own eyes widen slowly as he realizes what he’s just said.  “Oh,” he stutters,  
n-no, that’s. That’s not -”

He presses his lips together and sucks a breath in through his nose. Louis blinks slowly at him, cheeks still red, and Harry wonders if - _no_. He cuts that line of thinking off immediately, before a little bolt of heat can work its way to the pit of his belly.

It takes a moment for Louis to snap out of it, but when he does, it’s with a weak attempt at alleviating the awkwardness. “‘M not your dad,” he mumbles, stooping down to grab the bags of food. “I’m barely two years older than you.”

Harry doesn’t bother answering. He just slips out the door when Louis holds it open for him, then locks it behind them. The trip down the stairs and to Louis’ car is awkwardly silent. Harry sneaks a glance at Louis as he drives them to his house, the dips and planes of his face lit up by passing street lamps. He does look quite daddy, Harry muses, with his powerful bone structure and the weekend’s growth of stubble dusting his jaw.

Tucking a secretive smile into the crook of his elbow, Harry turns his attention out the window. Louis only lives a few blocks over, but halfway there, flats and small businesses give way to tree-lined streets and lovely, single-family homes. Louis’ house is a gorgeous red brick with a sprawling front garden and an elegant, curving front drive. There are currently three cars parked in the drive - Louis’ Porsche and what Harry recognizes as Niall and Liam’s cars.

“Lads are already here,” Louis says softly, a faint note of awkwardness still in the air.

Knowing better than to try taking any of the food in, Harry goes on into the house while Louis grabs the bags. He can hear Niall and Liam in the living room, but he takes a minute to peer around with a contented smile.

He loves Louis’ house. For all that it looks a bit old fashioned from the outside, the inside is both sleek and homey. Heavy, exposed beams paired with industrial-style lighting fixtures and clean, monochromatic furniture dotted with jewel-toned throw pillows and fluffy blankets. The kitchen and master bathroom are the prizes of the home; enormous, luxurious rooms with every amenity one could hope for. Not that Louis cooks much, of course, but Harry jumps at the opportunity to use Louis’ kitchen, and getting to use his bathroom is always a treat

“Everything alright?” Louis asks, coming up behind Harry and nudging him gently with his elbow.

“Yes,” Harry sighs, smiling serenely at Louis. “I just love being here.”

Louis raises an eyebrow and Harry knows what’s coming before he even opens his mouth. “Well, you know you could be here all the time, if you’d just agree to move in with -”

Harry is saved from having to turn him down _again_ by the sound of Niall crowing, “Harry!”

The cry of his name is followed by a stampede of footsteps, and then Niall and Liam are dashing around the corner to envelop Harry in hugs. Offer forgotten, Harry giggles into Liam’s shoulder and tries to get one arm around each of them. It’s not easy, between Harry’s restricting jacket and the way Niall is currently trying to crush Harry against Louis’ side in an effort to peek into the food bags.

“Oi,” Louis shouts, “let’s stop trying to squeeze Hazza to death!”

There are hands on Harry’s waist a moment later, and he’s being gently extricated from Liam and Niall’s grips. He giggles again, pushing his rumpled hair out of his eyes. “It’s only been a week since we last saw each other!”

“I still missed you,” Niall declares, grabbing Harry’s face in both of his hands and pressing a smacking kiss to his mouth. “You’ve gotten prettier over the past week.”

Harry swears he can _hear_ Louis’ immense eye-roll. “He’s already cooked for you, you don’t have to keep flirting with him, you idiot.”

Niall sticks his tongue out at Louis, but picks up one of the bags, all the same.

After a brief squabble over who gets which dish first and a debate over beers - water for Harry, of course - they finally settle down in the living room with plates overflowing with food and an xBox controller apiece.

“Louis, I really think we should change it up this time,” Liam tries - just like he does every week.

Louis just slings an arm across Harry's shoulders and pulls him against his side, shouts, “You can't break up the dream team, Liam!”

Harry hides his smile behind his water bottle. He's actually not terrible at FIFA, but he and Louis do make one hell of a team. At everything they do, if Harry is honest, even actual football. He's had so many kickabouts with Louis over the years that he's managed to pick up a few tricks, doesn't fall on his face quite as often as he used to. He suspects that's mostly down to Louis looking after him (though Louis insists it’s not, that he’s getting by on his own talent), but still - they dominate in two-on-two matches, and every once in a while, Harry even scores a goal.

There's a gentle tug on Harry's hair and he comes out of his stupor to find Louis watching him, a soft look on his face. “You alright there, babe? You looked a million miles away.”

Harry nods, smiling. There's a giddy note to his voice when he says simply, “Dream team.”

“Dream team,” Louis confirms, pressing a kiss to Harry's temple.

 

Niall and Liam are sprawled out on the floor, leaving the whole sofa to Louis and Harry, but Harry cannot get comfortable. Too full, the waistband of his jeans are digging into his stomach, despite the fact that they’re his biggest pair of non-pregnancy jeans, and his back aches from sitting in the same position for too long. He’s shifting restlessly, trying to find a good position, when Louis pokes him with his toes and whispers, “Back hurts?”

Harry bites his lip and nods.

Without a word, Louis angles himself back against the armrest and spreads his legs wide, then beckons Harry forward. Shifting up onto his hands and knees, Harry crawls across the sofa and settles himself gingerly in the vee of Louis’ legs, back to Louis’ front. Louis pulls him back with arms banded across his chest, so Harry leans back slowly, until they’re nestled together, Louis’ chin resting on top of Harry’s head.

It takes Harry a moment to relax, but once he does, back moulding to Louis’ front and adjusting to the angle of his body, the tension slowly eases from the small of his back. He sighs quietly in relief and tips his head back to rest on Louis’ shoulder, turned at an angle so that he can still see the TV.

Harry is pretty sure he could easily fall asleep like this, with Louis warm and sturdy behind him, thighs bracketing his hips, and Louis’ hands laced together across his stomach. After a few minutes, though, a craving hits him. At first, it’s just a vague thought in the back of his mind, but it grows and grows until it’s all he can think of.

Desperate now, Harry squirms, turns his head so he can ask, “Lou, can I borrow your car for a few minutes?”

“What? Why? What do you need, I’ll go get it for you.”

Mouth turned down at the corners, Harry drops his gaze to his belly, just barely pushing against the waistband of his jeans and the stretchy fabric of his jumper at this angle.

Louis’ laugh is just a warm puff of air against Harry’s shoulder. He taps Harry’s side, indicating for him to sit up. “I know what you want. Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

Confused, Harry watches as Louis carefully untangles himself, then clambers off the sofa. He laughs when Louis deliberately trods on Liam’s back, earning him an indignant yell and a swipe for his ankles. He’s too quick, though, disappearing into the kitchen. He reappears a short while later with something wrapped in a tea towel.

Louis presents it to Harry before climbing back into position and pulling Harry against his chest once more. Bemused, Harry starts to unwrap the towel. A spoon falls into his lap, and then he sees -

Tears well up in his eyes, unbidden, and he sniffles wetly, staring down at the container of Chunky Monkey like it’s a diamond ring. Louis’ grip on his waist tightens and he sits up a bit. There’s concern in his voice when he asks, “Hazza? That is what you wanted, right?”

“Yes,” Harry whispers, stupidly touched. Louis _hates_ fruit flavored ice cream, there’s no reason for him to already have it in his freezer, which means he bought it just for Harry.

Incredibly moved, Harry turns his head and touches his mouth to Louis’ in a brief, tender kiss.

Louis freezes, but Harry doesn’t notice, just pulls back a fraction and whispers, “You always know what I need. Thank you.”

It takes Louis a moment to respond, and his voice is gruff when he mumbles, “You’re welcome. Told you I’d take care of you.”

~*~

Harry’s not quite sure how he ended up here - completely ensconced in Louis’ duvet with an iPad propped up against a pillow and The Lion King playing across the screen. Actually, that’s not true. He tries not to think about it while he sings along to Hakuna Matata; about how weeks of photographing engaged couples, newlyweds, happy couples with their new babies, and large, rambunctious families had worn on him. About how he’d subconsciously touch his belly and think about what he could have, what he always thought he would have, what he so desperately wanted. Eventually, miserable and worn out, he’d forced himself to reschedule a week’s worth of appointments, packed a duffel bag, and shown up on Louis’ doorstep with no explanation and a bag full of groceries.

His mum had called it a “staycation,” but Harry is just calling it a retreat to his safe-haven. Louis still has to work during the day, but he’s promised to pop in for lunch and not stay at work late, and has even taken Friday off so they could do something fun together. He hasn’t even been at Louis’ for a full day, but Harry already feels marginally better, and he’s not even talked to Louis about why he’s there yet. Bless Louis, Harry thinks, snuggling further into the blankets. He had ushered Harry into the house without a question and hasn’t asked why once. He’d simply carried Harry’s duffle to his bedroom and let him get on with putting together a chicken cacciatore.

Harry’s stomach rumbles at the thought of the leftover chicken, but he’s too comfortable to get up. With a soft sigh, Harry rubs a hand over the gentle swell of his belly. “I’ll feed you in a few minutes,” he whispers, words slurring at the end. He’s asleep before the end of the song.

 

Harry wakes to the scratchy tickle of a beard rubbing against his cheek and the pleasant, sonorous sound of Mufasa’s voice. He tries to roll over so he can see what’s going on, but he’s so tangled up in the blankets that all he can do is wiggle a bit like a worm. There’s a quiet laugh coming from behind him, and Harry grunts, trying to work his arms free of the constricting blankets.

“Here,” Louis giggles, “let me help you.”

Harry lays still while Louis leans over him and unwinds the ends of the blankets, fingertips brushing against his skin as he parts them around Harry’s body so his arms and legs are finally free. Harry’s shirt is rucked up around his armpits, somehow, the subtle little pooch of his belly clearly visible, and his heart is racing, skin tingling, but he’s not sure why.

He takes a moment to catch his breath and slow his heart rate, then looks up at Louis, breathes, “Hi.”

Louis isn’t looking at his face, though, his eyes are trained on Harry’s stomach, expression soft and open. He reaches a hand out, then stops halfway, glances up at Harry and asks, “Can I?”

Bottom lip caught between his teeth and pulse suddenly hammering again, Harry nods shortly. It’s not like Louis has never touched his stomach before - he has countless times, even since he found out he was pregnant - but this time feels... different. Charged. Maybe because he feels so exposed like this, sprawled out on the bed with his shirt pushed up and his exercise shorts riding low. Whatever it is, Harry can’t help the way his muscles contract a bit when Louis’ cold fingers first touch his overheated skin, or the way a shiver ripples up his spine, raising goosebumps in its wake. His overly sensitive nipples harden instantly. Harry hopes Louis hasn’t noticed.

“You’re always so warm,” Louis murmurs, laying his palm flat against Harry’s stomach. The small curve of it fits perfectly into Louis’ palm. Harry wonders if Louis can feel his heart beating like this, because Harry can feel it thrumming in every pulse point, the pit of his stomach, the soles of his feet. “Did you have a nice day?” Louis asks conversationally, hand still cupped around Harry’s stomach, fingertips stroking back and forth. A moment later, his other hand joins it, ten fingers tracing aimless patterns against his skin like he’s completely fascinated, can’t get enough. Harry most definitely doesn’t mind.

Harry shrugs carefully, not wanting to move too much and dislodge Louis’ hands. “I didn’t do much.” He thumbs over at the iPad, still playing The Lion King on loop. “Watched a few movies, ate all of your fruit and a whole pint of ice cream, and took about three naps.”

The corners of Louis’ eyes crinkle with his smile. He settles down cross-legged next to Harry’s hip and rests one hand flat on Harry’s stomach again, the other tugging at the buttons of his work shirt. “That sounds nice. Wish I had taken the week off, too.”

Shaking his head, Harry reaches for the hand resting on his stomach and tangles their fingers together. “You have too much important work to do. Finish up your cases, and then we can take a vacation together. Just the two of us,” Harry promises.

“Deal,” Louis agrees, squeezing Harry’s hand. “Now get up and get dressed, we’re going for a walk and then for Thai food.”

“Indian,” Harry counters.

Louis rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning. “Fine,” he murmurs, leaning over to press a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “But only because I love you. And because Kumquat gets what Kumquat wants.”

 

For the first three days, Harry does nothing but sleep, eat, and plant a small autumn garden in a bare patch of dirt along the fence in Louis’ backyard. June has only just begun, but the seeds will need some time to germinate anyway. He’ll just have to come over and water them every couple of days, since he knows Louis won’t remember to on a regular basis. He didn’t even have a garden hose, Harry remembers with a scoff.

He’s out in the garden planting a neat row of pansies when Louis gets home on Thursday. Harry doesn’t even hear Louis calling his name, is too absorbed in making sure the holes for the seeds are deep enough and even with each other to register Louis’ voice or the sound of shoes on grass, so when Louis puts a hand on his shoulder, Harry startles so hard, he flings a handful of dirt into the air.

“Harry!” Louis squawks, brushing dirt out of his hair and off his neatly pressed button-up.

Harry plops down in the dirt, heart racing, and lets out a breathless, hysterical laugh. “I’m sorry! I didn’t hear you, you frightened me!”

“I was calling your name for ten minutes. I guess you couldn’t hear me over your singing.”

“Singing?” Harry asks, puzzled. He scratches at the knees of his jeans, stained with dirt and green streaks from the grass. There’s dirt caught up under his fingernails from when he’d gotten tired of using the spade to dig, specks of it all over his jumper, and he’s certain there’s a smear of it under one eye from when he’d had an itch and forgotten how dirty his hands were.

Louis’ eyes are sparkling as he takes him in, though, and there’s amusement in his voice when he says, “Yes, you were singing as you worked. Walking on Sunshine, I think.”

Harry ducks his head, cheeks flushing, and picks at the fraying edges of a hole in his jeans. He hadn’t even realized.

“Hey,” Louis says, touching a hand to Harry’s temple, where a few curls have sprung loose from his bun. “Let me go change and I’ll help you.”

Harry scrubs a hand down the leg of his jeans, then busies himself checking his email while Louis dashes inside to change into grubby sweats. He has a few from clients, but his automated out of office response is enough for now. He does reply to one from his mum with links to quality baby furniture and nursery designs, and flags one about a real estate listing he’s been keeping an eye on. He’s just tossing his phone onto the grass when Louis pushes open the back door and leaves it gaping. He’s got two water bottles in hand.

“Drink,” he commands once he’s reached Harry’s side, and hands him one of the bottles. Harry opens the bottle obediently and sucks half of it down, then shuffles back around to face the small garden.

Once Louis has settled down beside him, elbows brushing, Harry starts to explain what he’s done. “I’ve lined the back of the flower bed with goldenrod, which will grow nice and tall and bloom bright yellow. Here we’ve got some colchicum, toad lilies, mums, cyclamen, stock, which will smell lovely, and these are for pansies and irises. I’ve even left the little tags that came with the seeds, so you’ll know what everything is.”

“Wow.” Louis lets his eyes wander around the small garden, though there’s not much to see besides freshly turned dirt.

“It’s going to be pretty, trust me,” Harry assures him.

Louis casts him a sideways glance, mouth curled up into a smile. He reaches out and links their pinkies together, hands resting on Harry’s thigh. “I always trust you,” he murmurs, making Harry’s stomach twist pleasantly. “Okay, tell me what to do. Your back must be hurting, I’ll take over.”

“It’s not,” Harry protests, even though that’s not entirely true. His belly has been growing at a slow, but steady pace, and leaning over for extended periods of time makes the small of his back ache. But he loves gardening, wants to put his absolute best into this garden for Louis. It’s worth it.

There’s no arguing with Louis, though, so he scoots back so he can switch places with Louis and instruct him. Harry leans back on one hand to try and stretch his back out a bit and rests the other on his stomach, well pleased with the progress his baby is making. At fourteen weeks, he’s big enough for his second trimester jeans, the ones with the wide, stretchy fabric band. He’s been reading baby blogs and forums obsessively and is counting down the days to the 17 week mark, when most websites say he could potentially start to feel the baby kick. Just the thought sends a thrill down his spine.

“Harry? _Harry_.” Harry snaps out of his daze when Louis waves a hand in front of his face. “You know, my mum used to call this ‘pregnancy brain.’ Where were you?”

Without thinking, Harry blurts out, “D’you think I’ll ever find someone to marry me, now that I’m a single parent?”

Louis blinks at him in shock for a moment, then says, “ _What_? What kind of a question is that?”

Harry frowns, excitement over his growing belly temporarily gone. He’s been feeling so much better the past few days that he hadn’t even realized that question was still lurking in the back of his mind. He hadn’t meant to just spit it out like that.

Louis dusts his hands off and scrambles across the short stretch of grass between them so he can grip Harry’s shoulders. His expression is earnest, his tone urgent when he says, “Harry, you are an incredible person. You’re smart, kind, generous, funny, beautiful, and the best person I know. Anyone would be _lucky_ to be with you.”

Harry sniffs, Louis’ words hitting him right in the gut. He’s grateful - always so, incredibly grateful to Louis, for having Louis in his life - but his chest still feels hollow, his situation a bit desolate. As if sensing the fact that Harry doesn’t believe him, Louis slides his hands up to cup Harry’s cheeks. His palms are gritty with dirt, but Harry doesn’t care.

“The hardest part is going to be putting yourself out there, especially once the baby is born, but single parents get married all the time. Don’t even think for a second that you won’t find someone.”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a shaky breath. He _wants_ to believe Louis, he does. It’s just difficult right now, when everything about his life feels so complicated and up in the air. Harry isn’t expecting it when Louis’ lips brush his forehead. When he opens his eyes, Louis is watching him, eyes inexplicably sad.

“I wish you would...” He cuts himself off with a sigh. “I wish you could see yourself the way I do. You’re going to make someone very happy one day, Hazza. I promise you that.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, Harry throws his arms around Louis’ shoulders and buries his face in the crook of his neck. Louis’ arms come around his waist and Harry gasps when Louis hefts him into his lap, cradling him close. One of Louis’ hands works its way into his hair, loosening his bun so he can stroke his hair and scratch soothingly at his scalp. It sends warm shivers down Harry’s spine and helps loosen his tensed muscles further.

It takes a few minutes before Harry no longer feels on the precipice of tears, tightness in his chest loosening enough for him to be able to drag in deeper breaths. Once he’s stopped trembling, Harry loosens his grip on Louis and leans back, embarrassment creeping in.

As if he knows exactly what Harry is thinking, Louis rolls his eyes and squeezes Harry close again, mumbles with his lips pressed to Harry’s temple, “Don’t you dare get embarrassed on me now. You’re my best mate and I love you more than anyone in this world, I’ll never judge you for feeling the way you feel.”

Harry lets out a short, hiccuping laugh, Louis’ reprimand enough to finally do him in. He can feel hot tears sliding down his cheeks, soaking into the shoulder of Louis’ shirt. He sniffles wetly and grips the front of Louis’ shirt, stretching the fabric with his fists. He can’t count the number of times Louis has been there for him, how many times Louis has been his rock, his anchor holding him in place when he’s felt overwhelmed or stressed, angry or upset.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Harry whispers.

Louis just squeezes him tighter and says, “Well, luckily, you’ll never have to find out.”

~*~

“Roast, potatoes, asparagus, salad, beer and cider,” Harry mutters, checking each item off on his mental list as he goes. The roast is already in the oven, but as he’s progressed into his second trimester, Harry has been having more and more scatter-brained moments and he’s worried he’ll forget something. “Not that Louis will mind,” Harry sighs, then laughs and rolls his eyes when he realizes he’s talking to himself. Louis is due over in a half hour for dinner and the new episode of The Walking Dead, and Harry wants everything to be perfect.

Only once he’s put the potatoes and asparagus into the oven along with the roast does Harry head back into his room to change. Wanting to feel pretty, he slips on a pair of skinnies and a sheer floral tunic, pleased with the way his sixteen-week belly fills the stretchy waistband of the jeans and strains just a little against the thin material of his shirt. He leaves his hair down and slicks berry tinted chapstick onto his lips, a bit of shimmer at the corners of his eyes, then, leaving his feet bare, heads back to the kitchen to check on his meal.

There’s a beautiful summer breeze floating in through the open windows and the sun is just beginning to set, casting the white kitchen in varying shades of pink and purple. Harry hums contentedly as he tosses his salad together and whips up a creamy balsamic dressing that he knows is Louis’ favorite. He makes a mental note not to forget about the cheesecake he’d thrown together earlier. He’s put on four kilos since he got pregnant, but all of the websites tell him he’s perfectly on track, and he can spare the extra calories. The baby had been dreaming about a cheesecake earlier, anyway, and as Louis always says, what Kumquat wants, Kumquat gets.

Louis is only five minutes late when he breezes in, whistling cheerfully and pocketing his keys as he steps into the kitchen.

“It smells heavenly,” Louis declares, before walking over to Harry to press a smacking kiss to his cheek. “Hello, darling, you look stunning.”

Harry hopes that the pink of the setting sun hides the way his cheeks flame with the compliment. He should be used to Louis’ compliments by now, but even after six years of friendship, they still manage to fluster him every time.

“How was your day?” Harry asks as he puts the dressing into the fridge to chill while they wait. The roast still has a bit to go.

Louis shrugs. “Alright. I got a lot done, I think I may be able to wrap this case up within the next week?”

“That’s wonderful,” Harry exclaims, drawing Louis into a congratulatory hug. He can feel Louis’ mouth curve up into a smile against his shoulder.

“You know,” Louis starts, muffled against Harry’s shirt, “once I finish up this case, I should be free for a vacation.”

“Oh!” Harry draws back, excitement blooming in his chest. “Do you have an idea of when? So I can start clearing my calendar and blocking off time?”

Louis flicks at his fringe, hair unstyled today, as it’s Sunday and the office was technically closed. “Unless the judge sends something back, I estimated that I should be through with this last big case by next Friday. I can temporarily reassign the rest of my cases while we’re gone, so unless two weeks is too soon...”

“No! That’s perfect,” Harry enthuses, already planning. He fishes his phone out of his back pocket and opens up his calendar to see if he’s got anything scheduled.

Louis laughs. “Good, because I’ve already taken the time off.”

“How long?” Harry asks, looking up from his phone. His cheeks are flushed with excitement, fingers trembling a bit where they’re clasped around his phone.

“Two weeks, but I don’t expect you to take two weeks off. I figured a week away, then an extra week at home, just because.”

“You deserve it.”

Louis’ grin is quick and wide. “I do, don’t I,” he muses, winking at Harry. Heaving a sigh, then, Louis pats a hand over his stomach and asks, “How much longer till dinner is ready?”

“The roast needs another half hour, I think,” Harry says, glancing over at the oven. He bites his lip, debating whether or not he should ask, then decides to just go for it. “Do you want to see the latest bump photos?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Louis says immediately.

They head out to the living room, where Harry carefully unhooks the camera from the tripod and hands it to Louis. “I don’t know when you last looked, but there should be about fourteen new photos since I stayed at yours.”

Harry watches, fidgeting nervously, while Louis tucks his chin down against his chest and flicks back through the photos. He’s not sure _why_ he’s nervous, since Louis sees him shirtless all the time, but he feels jittery and itchy, like his skin is too tight. Unable to take Louis’ silence and blank expression, Harry shuffles over to him and hooks his chin over Louis’ shoulder so he can look at the photos along with him, sees that he’d actually scrolled back to the very first photo.

He watches, amazed all over again, as Louis flips from photo to photo, belly growing and rounding out in time-lapse.

“This is incredible,” Louis murmurs, reaching behind him with one hand to grip Harry’s hip and squeeze. “Look how beautiful you are.”

Harry’s breath catches in his throat and he has a sudden, unexpected, axis-tilting vision of himself and Louis, holding hands while he takes a pregnancy test, Louis’ hands on his shoulders while he has a sonogram, Louis measuring the progress of his belly, building a crib in one of the spare bedrooms in Louis’ - _their_ \- house, holding Harry’s hand in the delivery room, Louis perched on the hospital bed at Harry’s side, a tiny, fluffy-haired baby cradled in his arms. The images flash, lightning-fast, across the backs of Harry’s eyelids, stealing his breath. He has no idea where they came from, can’t stop them from playing on a loop in his head.

“I - have to check on the roast,” Harry chokes out, stumbling away from Louis and turning blindly toward the kitchen. He lays a shaking hand against his belly and whispers, low enough so that he’s sure Louis can’t hear, “This is not helping, baby. Leave my hormones alone.”

He goes through the motions of checking on the roast in a daze. It’s ready, he thinks, so he pulls the dressing from the fridge and dresses the salad, then calls to Louis in a hazy, distracted voice.

“Is this from today?” Louis asks, walking into the kitchen with the camera still in hand. He turns it so Harry can see the screen. He’s shirtless, as always, turned sideways away from the window, and wearing a pair of bright yellow shorts.

Harry nods sluggishly. “Yes, this morning. Here, take some salad while I take out the food.”

Louis starts forward, setting the camera down on the table. “Harry, let me -”

Harry just shakes his head and waves Louis back toward the table. He needs another moment to collect himself. Still in a bit of a daze, Harry turns the oven off, then tugs the door open, waits until the wave of heat has passed before bending over to pull out the roast. It’s not until he’s got a solid grip on the pan that he realizes he hadn’t remembered to put an oven mit on.

“Ow, bloody hell,” Harry curses, yanking his hand back and cradling it against his chest. He can feel tears welling up, lets out a little gasping sob as his hand throbs.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Louis rushes over and pulls Harry’s hand away from his chest so he can inspect. The skin on his palm and the tips of his fingers is an angry shade of red, not blistering quite yet.

Harry swipes clumsily at the tears slipping silently down his cheeks. He’s such an idiot, what had he been thinking? Well, he knows what he’d been thinking about, and the images come flooding back as Louis leads him over to the table and pushes him down into one of the chairs.

“Stay,” Louis commands. “I’m going to clip some of your aloe vera.”

“Okay,” Harry whispers, settling his hand palm-up on his knee and staring blindly down at it. He’s got a window sill planter overflowing with aloe vera plants propagated from his mum’s garden. She’d always told him it was important to keep them in any kitchen, and Harry makes a mental note to send her a thank you text later.

He sits quietly while Louis spreads aloe over his palm and down his fingers, grateful that he’d reached in with his left hand first. Louis tuts quietly as he applies the last of it to Harry’s pinky finger. “I’ll put fresh aloe on after we eat, then I’ll bandage it up for you.”

“Thank you,” Harry whispers, embarrassed and trying not to think about the pain. He’s got quite a high pain threshold, but it feels as if his palm has been rubbed raw and it’s all his own damn fault. Traitorous brain, he thinks grouchily.

Louis cups a hand under Harry’s chin and lifts it so he’ll meet his eyes. “Hey, try not to injure yourself any more, okay? I worry about you enough as it is.”

Harry’s mouth twists into a wry smile and he nods, concedes, “I’ll try.”

“Good.” Louis smacks a kiss to Harry’s forehead, then straightens up. “Now you sit tight while I get everything out of the oven. _With a towel_ ,” he teases, throwing a grin over his shoulder at Harry.

Harry watches Louis dig through drawers for trivets, then fit oven mitts onto his hands and pull the dishes from the oven, making it all too easy for Harry to fall right back into his vision of easy domesticity. Letting out a barely audible groan, Harry pats his tummy with his right hand and lets his head fall back against the back of the chair. He tries to conjure up images of kittens, his mum, the little old man who runs the flower shop down the street and always gives Harry an extra rose in his bouquets, but nothing seems to work.

It doesn’t help that Louis insists on serving Harry his food and makes Harry stay seated while he cleans up the kitchen afterward. As promised, once he’s finished putting everything away, Louis snips another aloe leaf and reapplies the gel to Harry’s burn before wrapping it carefully in some gauze he’d found in Harry’s bathroom.

Once he’s fastened the gauze with a small bandage clip, Louis lifts Harry’s hand and presses a soft kiss to the inside of his wrist. Harry’s heart flutters painfully in his chest and tears spring, unbidden, to his eyes, but he fights them back, swallows around the thick lump in his throat and forces himself to look away as Louis stands back up.

“Do you still want to watch the show?” Louis asks, gnawing on his bottom lip like he’s not sure if he should keep Harry up or tuck him into bed.

Harry nods jerkily, needing the distraction of zombies and gore. He lets Louis haul him to his feet, hands wrapped carefully around his wrists, and follows him out of the kitchen.

“Thank you for always taking care of me,” Harry murmurs, leaning his head on Louis’ shoulder as they shuffle into the living room and flop down onto the sofa.

Harry curls immediately into Louis’ side, burned hand resting palm-up in Louis’ lap. Limbs dragging with a sudden exhaustion and mildly uncomfortable from eating too much, Harry tugs his tunic, just a bit too tight after all of that food, up over his stomach and settles his right hand over the curve of his belly, thumb stroking absently against his skin while Louis starts up the episode.

It takes a few minutes for Louis to notice the way Harry has pulled up his shirt, but when he does, he coos and twists around to rub a hand over Harry’s stomach. “I think it might be time to put this shirt in the back of the closet, babe,” he teases, but Harry just pouts.

“I like it,” he mumbles, eyelids drooping. “Makes me feel pretty.”

He turns his face into Louis’ shoulder, rubbing his cheek against the soft cotton and fighting fruitlessly against a yawn. He thinks he hears Louis whisper, “You’re always pretty,” but before he can really comprehend it or respond, he’s slipped into sleep.

~*~

Harry can’t stop pacing. There are excited nerves jittering throughout his body and he just can’t sit still. Louis is going to be late, Harry knows it. He’s going to be late and they’re going to miss their flight and they’ll have to just stay home instead, and Harry’s not sure he could handle the disappointment right now.

He’s checking his watch obsessively, watching the minutes count down one by one. There are just three minutes left before the clock chimes nine when a knock sounds on the door, and then it’s being pushed open to reveal a beaming Louis.

“Oh, thank god,” Harry breathes, shoulders slumping with relief.

Louis’ eyebrows wing up and he asks, “You thought I was going to be late, didn’t you?”

Harry offers him a sweet smile and walks over to drape his arms across Louis’ shoulders. “I would never doubt you, babe.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but his hands settle on Harry’s hips, thumbs skimming the sides of Harry’s belly through the thin fabric of his shirt. “Suck up,” Louis mutters. Then, “Are you sure that’s what you want to wear on the flight? It’s three and a half hours, then another hour and a half in a car.”

Harry leans back a bit so he can look down at himself. He has on a pair of skinnies, a pale yellow button-up, and his favorite pair of fringed boots. “What wrong with my outfit?”

“Jeans and heels?” Louis asks, nudging at Harry’s foot with the toe of his Vans.

“They’re stretchy,” Harry mumbles defensively, stepping back so he can lift his shirt and show Louis the fabric band covering his belly. He’s rounding out quite nicely, now that he’s well into his fourth month, and he can’t _wait_ to show his belly off in the swim shorts and fitted shirts he’s packed.

Expression softening, Louis bends over so he can pat Harry’s stomach and murmur, “Try not to make your daddy uncomfortable, alright, Baby? We’ve got a bit of traveling to do.”

Shoving all thoughts of Louis talking to the baby aside, Harry sighs forlornly. He’s already eighteen weeks along, and all of the sites said he could feel the baby kicking as early as seventeen weeks, but so far nothing. His mum has reassured him that it will mostly likely be later, since this is his first pregnancy, but Harry is _ready_. He’s been talking to the baby more than usual, trying to elicit a response, but it’s doing no good.

“Alright, love,” Louis says loudly, turning toward the sofa so he can grab Harry’s duffel. “You ready?”

“Yes!” Harry claps, momentarily forgetting his baby woes and bouncing up onto his toes in excitement. He slings his carry-on over his shoulder, moaning, “I am so ready for this vacation.”

Louis tsks, leading Harry out the front door with a hand in the small of his back. “It’s called a _babymoon_ ,” he corrects, then pauses to make a face. “A platonic babymoon?”

The words twist a bit unpleasantly in Harry’s chest, but he just snorts softly and turns to lock the front door. It’s been two weeks since the image of himself and Louis as a family popped into his head, and he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it. About how much Louis means to him, how ingrained Louis is in his life, how much he loves and trusts Louis, how gorgeous Louis is. He’s having an especially difficult time with that last one, thanks to his baby hormones. He’s been trying his best to push all of it to the recesses of his mind, though, determined not to let it affect the way he interacts with Louis.

So what if, on some level, he might wish Louis saw him as something other than his pregnant best friend? So what if he’s starting to realize that those feelings he had had for Louis when they first met never quite went away? They’re different people now, and they’re in a good place. Harry would rather be Louis’ best friend who might _maybe_ secretly be a little bit in love with him than tell Louis how he feels and risk losing him completely.

Rolling his eyes at himself, Harry shakes off the gloom brought on by that train of thought. He’s about to go on vacation with his very best friend, his favorite person in the entire world, and he’s going to enjoy every single moment of it.

~*~

It’s fucking _hot_ in Greece. There’s sweat dripping down the center of Harry’s back and he has to fight the urge to just take his jeans off right there in the rental car, denim suffocating against his overheated skin. They haven’t quite gotten out of the city yet, though, other cars too close for any privacy, and Louis has promised a gorgeous ocean breeze once they’ve left the Athens city limits and hit the coastal highway. Harry drums his fingers against his knee, trying very hard to appreciate the beauty of a city they won’t be spending any time in. It’s just a little hard when there are beads of sweat sliding down his temples and his feet feel uncomfortably swollen in his boots.

To Harry’s immense relief, traffic clears the moment they leave the city, and it’s only a few short minutes to the coastal road from there. Louis rolls all of the windows down and steps down on the accelerator until they’re flying down the road, wind whipping Harry’s hair about his face, the ocean nothing more than a jewel-bright blur. Laughter bubbles up in Harry’s chest and he slips his hand out the window, just enough to feel the pressure of the wind against his palm and feel the salty dampness of the air on his skin.

The sun is high in the sky when Louis slows down and turns off the highway toward the glittering coastline. There’s excitement thrumming through Harry’s veins again, and it just keeps mounting as they approach their destination. Harry’s breath catches in his throat at first sight of the resort. He can’t see the Mediterranean over the buildings looming in front of them, but the front gate of the resort is built of towering limestone flanked by enormous, sprawling bougainvillea bushes in vibrant pinks, reds, and purples and it’s already more beautiful than Harry could have imagined.

Once they’ve parked, Harry gets out of the car to stretch his legs while Louis checks them in. There’s a meandering path bisecting the space between the main office and the resort restaurant that, Harry discovers, leads to an infinity pool lined with loungers and small tents, all overlooking the sea and, to the left, the ruins of the Temple of Poseidon. Shaking his head in awe, Harry snaps a few photos with his phone. He had looked the resort up before they left, knew what to expect, but he had no idea how it would feel, actually standing in this place while the beauty and history wrap around him like a warm blanket.

Lost in the breeze and the gentle sound of waves crashing against the shore, Harry doesn’t register Louis’ approach until there’s a hand sliding around his waist. He fits himself to Louis’ side, tipping his head to rest on Louis’ shoulder, and just breathes in contentedly.

“You know,” Louis murmurs, turning his head to brush a kiss across Harry’s forehead, “I hear we’ve got quite the view from our patio, as well.”

Groaning just a little, Harry shifts his weight from one foot to the other and asks, “Does said patio come with a chair to sit in?”

“Even better,” Louis grins, turning to face Harry. He grips Harry’s hips, squeezing gently, and explains, “It comes with a porch swing.”

Harry can’t quite help the moan that slips out at the thought of being able to sit on a swing and enjoy the view and the breeze. Maybe Louis will even sit on the swing with him and play with his hair. “And why aren’t we in our room yet?”

“Oi! Cheeky Styles. Come on, then, Curly.” He uses his hold on Harry’s hips to turn him around and march him back toward the car for the short drive to their bungalow.

They have a _bungalow_ , Harry thinks, giddy and overjoyed, as they pull to a stop in front of a quaint building surrounded by trees and fragrant flowers. He doesn’t even remember to put up a fuss when Louis insists on carrying both of their bags, already halfway to the front door before Louis has even managed to open the boot of the car.

The inside of the bungalow is just as beautiful as the website had promised, all sleek, modern lines, flowers everywhere, and an absolutely enormous bed in the center of the room. There will be time to explore the toilet and whatever is hidden behind the shoji screen in the corner later. First, Harry wants to relax on that lovely, wide patio. He throws the sliding glass door wide and breathes in a lung-full of salty air.

Wind whips through the room immediately, ruffling the curtains and reminding Harry that his shirt is sticking unpleasantly to his back. Wrinkling his nose, he unbuttons it hastily and drops it on the end of the bed. Louis is just squeezing through the door with both of their bags in hand, so Harry sits down to remove his boots and strip off his jeans, as well, flopping back onto the bed dramatically while he waits until he can find a pair of shorts.

Louis drops their bags onto the bed by Harry’s hip, choking out a laugh at the way Harry is lying spread-eagle on the bed in nothing but a tiny pair of pants.

“Nap time, is it?” Louis asks, patting Harry’s bare knee.

Harry shakes his head emphatically. He is not sacrificing a moment of daylight in this paradise. He wants a pair of shorts and one of his robes, and then he wants a glass of cold juice that he can sip on the porch, preferably while tucked up against Louis’ side. Only able to lay on his back for short periods of time anyway at this point, Harry rolls onto his side and reaches lazily for his bag. He manages to wiggle into a pair of bright blue shorts while still laying down, much to Louis’ amusement, then sits up so he can tug on one of his sheer silk robes and pull his hair up into a bun.

“Don’t you look cute,” Louis murmurs, smiling softly at Harry.

A bolt of pleasure twists in Harry’s belly and he preens a bit. He knows he’s sticky and probably smells like a stale airplane, but he feels loose and beautiful and filled to the brim with love and gratitude.

Holding out both of his hands, Harry wiggles his fingers at Louis and says, “Come sit with me.”

Louis laces their fingers together and squeezes. “You go ahead, let me just change and find us something to drink. I’ll be out in a minute.”

True to his word, Louis emerges onto the patio only a few short minutes later, a beer in one hand and a glass of pineapple juice in the other.

“How do you always know what I’m craving?” Harry asks, taking a grateful sip of the juice as Louis settles onto the bench swing beside him.

He cuddles into Louis’ side immediately, humming happily when Louis drapes an arm across his shoulders and strokes his fingers up and down his bicep.

“I guess I just know you too well,” is Louis’ delayed response.

Harry hums at that, turning to nose at the edge of his jaw. “I think you know me the perfect amount, actually.”

Maybe Louis doesn’t know him _quite_ the way Harry wishes he did, but it’s enough. Louis is always enough.

~*~

The sound of water lapping against their skin and the gentle rocking motion of the waves is soothing, lulling Harry into a dreamy haze. He shifts his grip on Louis’ neck, arms slipping down the curves of his shoulders so Harry doesn’t feel like he’s strangling him, even though he’s been made buoyant by the salty water, feels weightless and floaty, like he’s resting on a cloud.

“Does this feel weird?” he asks, voice oddly resonant where he’s got his face tucked into the curve of Louis’ neck.

“Of course not,” Louis says mildly, tightening his grip on Harry’s thighs so he can hitch him a bit higher on his waist. “I think this is quite nice, actually. I get to give you a piggyback ride without all of that added weight,” he jokes, reaching back to pinch Harry’s side.

“Hey!” Harry squeaks, squirming away from Louis’ grasping fingers and almost tipping the both of them over. It feels a bit weird to Harry, the way his belly is pressing against Louis’ back in this position, but they’ve been standing quietly on the sandbar for a while now and Louis’ doesn’t seem to mind the way Harry is clinging to him. Harry is too comfortable to move, anyway. Humming quietly to himself, Harry turns his head and, without really thinking, mouths absently at Louis’ salty skin. Louis always, inexplicably, smells and tastes delicious.

Louis’ voice is a bit strained when he turns his head and asks, “You alright back there, Hazza? We’ve got the water bottles floating just over there, if you’re thirsty.”

Thinking ahead that morning, and because he’s always taking care of Harry, Louis had produced a small cooler with an ankle strap to wear when they waded out into the water. He’s been making Harry drink every few minutes or so, just to make sure he doesn’t dehydrate. Harry loves him quite a lot.

“Not thirsty,” Harry sighs, “just thinking.”

One of Louis’ hands slides up his calf in a soothing stroke and he asks, “What about?”

Harry feels his brow furrow, can hear the sulk in his voice when he says, “I haven’t been able to feel the baby kick yet, but the websites said I could start feeling it as early as seventeen weeks. That was over a week ago,” he grumps.

“Harry,” Louis says gently. “Remember, it’s always different for first time parents. Most of the sites say that with your first baby, you won’t feel it kicking until twenty weeks.”

“I just want to feel it,” Harry says in a small voice. He’s taken to laying in bed at night and focusing every bit of his energy on his stomach, just _waiting_ to feel that first kick, that first flutter of life. “I want that connection so badly.”

A moment later, Harry is thrown off-balance when Louis unwraps his legs from around his hips and turns around in the loose bracket of Harry’s arms. “Hey,” Louis murmurs, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist and pulling him close. Well, as close as he can, with Harry’s belly between them. “Don’t try to rush anything, okay? It’ll happen when it’s meant to happen, and when it does, you’ll forget about the weeks you waited because it will all have been worth it.”

Harry holds his breath for a long moment, comforted and incredibly touched by Louis’ words, then slumps against Louis dramatically and mumbles against his damp skin, “When did you get so wise?”

Louis chuckles, rubbing a hand up and down Harry’s back. “I’ve always been wise, you’ve just never wanted to admit to it.”

“I love you so much,” Harry whispers, meaning it more in that moment than he’s ever meant it before. He’s both terrified and hopeful that Louis will be able to detect just what kind of love he means by his tone, by the way Harry is clinging to him so desperately, by the thundering of his heart, so loud that Louis surely must be able to hear it, too.

A beat passes though, long and silent, and then Louis is burying his face in Harry’s damp hair and whispering back, “I love you too, Harry.”

Harry tries not to let disappointment weigh him down too much. Instead, he forces a smile and breaks away from Louis with a pat to his stomach and a declaration of, “We’re hungry, let’s go get something to eat.”

They head back to the bungalow and shower off the itchy saltwater, then grab an early dinner on the restaurant’s patio as the sun sets over the sea. Harry tries to be good by eating a chicken salad, but then Louis orders an enormous brownie for dessert under the guise of sharing it. Harry thinks Louis is under the impression that he’s being sneaky when he nudges most of the brownie in Harry’s direction, but Harry pretends not to notice. It tastes too good to say no.

Harry is so uncomfortably full by the time they get back to the room that he collapses back onto the bed, wheezing and rubbing at the mound of his belly where it’s straining against his shirt after all of the food he ate.

“Hey, roll over,” Louis says, poking Harry in the side. “You shouldn’t be laying on your back, you know that.”

Sighing and groaning, Harry sits up just long enough to tug off his shirt and shorts, then he crawls under the blankets and settles down on his side, right in the center of the bed. The first night, he had clung to one side of the bed, despite the fact that he and Louis have shared beds and cuddled countless times before. He had woken up the following morning with Louis spooned up behind him, anyway, the two of them dangerously close to rolling right off the edge of that enormous bed. After that, he hadn’t bothered trying to keep his distance.

It’s still early, the sky still a light, velvety blue with the fading sun, but the beach is exhausting and Harry’s eyelids feel like they weigh about a thousand kilos. He wonders vaguely, sleepily, what Louis is doing, is about to call out for him groggily when the bed dips and Louis’ body wraps around him from behind, knees tucking up against the backs of Harry’s and his arm banding loosely across Harry’s chest. Humming happily, Harry snuggles back into the inviting warmth of Louis’ body and laces his fingers through Louis’ where his hand is resting over his heart.

“Sleep well, sweetheart,” Louis whispers, breath warm against the shell of Harry’s ear.

Harry grumbles incoherently before managing to slur, “Love you so much, Lou,” words nearly indecipherable as he slides slowly into sleep.

His brain is just a sleepy haze, caught halfway between wakefulness and dreams, when Harry thinks he hears Louis whisper, “I love you too, Harry. More than anything.”

~*~

“Can you believe we’ve already been here four days?” Harry asks, head lolling to the side.

He and Louis are sprawled out on loungers on their bungalow patio, sweating glasses of fruit juice grasped loosely in their hands. It’s a bit cooler out today than it has been, so Harry is wearing another one of his robes - lacy, this time - over a pair of yellow swimming trunks. He’s left it unbelted so that it parts around his belly, and he can’t stop touching his stomach, admiring the way it’s grown a bit, even since they arrived in Greece. It’s probably all of the juice and baklava he’s been consuming, but he’ll start exercising again once he gets back. Vacations are made for indulging, and he _is_ pregnant.

Anyway, he has gotten a _bit_ of exercise since they arrived. Just that morning, he and Louis had walked over to the Temple of Poseidon and spent an hour walking around the ruins, then sat in the center of them, backs against the steps and fingers tangled between them as they watched sailboats breeze past.

“Hey, H, did you know that sometime in the next week, Kumquat will be able to hear us speak?”

He does know that already, but he’s absolutely delighted that Louis is looking these things up on his own. It means so much to him that Louis is this invested, cares this much.

“We already talk to Baby all the time, I can’t wait until they can actually hear us.” Harry strokes his belly lovingly and coos, “Isn’t that right, Baby? Soon I’ll be able to sing to you and you’ll be able to hear all of Louis’ stories. He’ll actually have to stop cursing so much.”

Grinning, Louis sets his juice down so that he can stretch across the small gap between their loungers and rest a hand on Harry’s stomach. “Just wait until you’re able to hear your daddy’s silly jokes, Kumquat.”

“ _Hey_!”

Harry shoves at Louis’ shoulder, pouting, but Louis just laughs and clings to the edge of Harry’s lounger. He reaches for Harry’s hand and squeezes it, insisting, “Baby, I _love_ your jokes. They always make me laugh, you know I’d never make fun of you like that.”

“You make fun of me all the time,” Harry grumbles, rolling his eyes.

Still giggling, Louis struggles to clamber off of his lounger and squeezes onto Harry’s, wrapping himself around Harry and clinging like a limpet. Harry tries half-heartedly to fight him off, but he’s always been weak for cuddles, especially from Louis, and he’s craving that closeness right now.

“You’re such a dick,” Harry mumbles against Louis’ collarbone, going easily when Louis turns him carefully so that they’re spooning.

It’s a tight fit and Harry is mildly concerned that the lounger might collapse on them, but then Louis slides his palm over the curve of his belly and whispers, “Hiya, Kumquat. I know you can’t hear me yet, but I just thought you should know that you have the best daddy in the world.”

Harry melts into Louis’ embrace, biting his lip as every stroke of Louis’ fingers against his skin sends shivers up his spine. He’s already snuck off to the toilet a few times since they arrived for a covert wank, and even managed to sneak his vibrator into the shower with him the other night, but this... now is _not_ the time to get hard. Harry tries very hard to focus on _not_ getting hard, but just as Louis’ hand stills and he thinks he might be in the clear, he feels it.

It starts out as nothing more than a very faint flutter, and at first Harry thinks maybe he’s just hungry and his stomach is about to rumble, but then - Harry gasps, his entire body going rigid.

Louis’ hand tenses on his stomach and he asks, tone urgent, “Harry? What is it, what’s wrong?”

“Louis,” Harry whispers, wonder in his voice. “Louis, I think. I think the baby is kicking.”

“ _What_? I don’t feel anything!” Louis scrambles up into a sitting position and lets Harry roll toward him so he’s lying on his back, propped up against the lounger headrest.

They manage to fit all four of their hands onto the surface of Harry’s tummy, fingers interlocked, feeling intently for any sign of movement. It’s a minute before Harry feels it again - and there it is, that tiny brush of movement, like the flutter of butterfly wings. He can only feel it inside his belly, though, nothing against the palm of his hand, and he frowns.

“There it goes again. I suppose... the baby would have to get a bit stronger before we’d be able to feel it against our hands?”

“Oh,” Louis mutters, sounding thoroughly put out.

Harry’s heart warms at how excited Louis had been, how disappointed he is at the thought of not being able to feel the baby kick yet. He’s just about to draw Louis into a hug when -

“ _Oh_ ,” Harry gasps, sitting up a little, eyes wide. “That was - did you feel it?”

Louis shakes his head, bottom lip pouting out a bit.

“Here.” Harry grabs Louis’ hand and slides it over so it’s resting exactly where Harry’s had been. “Just wait...”

They sit there in complete silence for a full minute, Harry’s hand clasped tight around Louis’ wrist, before it happens again. Harry gasps again, at the same time that Louis lets out a delighted laugh. “I felt it that time! I felt it,” Louis trails off, awe in his voice and written plainly across his face.

The baby kicks again, two short, rapid-fire kicks that leave both of them laughing, tears tracking down Harry’s cheeks. “You were right,” he sniffs, not bothering to wipe away the tears. “It was worth the wait.”

“Harry, that’s our -” Louis cuts himself off with a choking noise, eyes wide and cheeks flushing pink. Harry’s heart stops in his chest and he watches Louis silently, breath held, waiting for him to continue. He thinks - he _thinks_ Louis had nearly said _their_ baby, and the thought, the sound of it sends a thrill down Harry’s spine. Louis’ voice is strangled when he continues, “That’s your baby.”

Feeling lightheaded, Harry starts, “Louis -”

But before he can say anything, Louis is scrambling back off of the lounger and wiping his palms on his shorts, stuttering, “I, uh. Be right back. I just need to - have a wee.”

Harry watches, distressed, as Louis beats a hasty retreat into the bungalow. He flinches when he hears the bathroom door slam shut and drops his gaze to his stomach, one hand still splayed across the top of it. He had really thought...

“Am I just projecting?” he asks his bump, mouth turned down into a miserable frown. He receives one short little kick in response, and then the baby falls silent. More confused than ever, Harry whispers, “I don’t know if that was a yes or a no.”

Several quiet minutes pass before Louis emerges again, shuffling awkwardly out onto the balcony. Eyes trained on his feet, Louis sits down on his own lounger and picks up his forgotten juice, turning the glass distractedly between his fingers.

A confusing mixture of sadness and guilt presses on Harry’s chest at Louis’ shuttered eyes and the downturn to his mouth. He never wanted to cause this sort of upset. Maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to go on a romantic vacation with Louis, feeling as he does. Maybe - “Louis, I’m sorry,” Harry blurts out, wincing immediately after.

Louis’ head shoots up in surprise. “What? Why?”

Harry twists his fingers together in his lap, wringing them nervously. “I don’t know, I’ve gotten you too involved in all of this.” He waves a hand at his stomach to indicate what he means. “You shouldn’t have to take me shopping for pregnancy clothes, or take me on a babymoon. I feel like I - _we_ have taken over your life, and I never wanted you to think you had to take care of me.”

Louis looks at him blankly, and he sounds completely baffled when he says, “But Harry, I _want_ to take care of you. You never asked me to do any of this, I _offered_. Hell, I practically begged you to move in with me, and you turned me down. I haven’t done anything I didn’t want to do, I promise you that.”

More confused than ever, Harry crosses his arms over his chest, shoulders hunched in, and asks, voice barely more than a whisper, “But _why_?”

Louis grimaces, mouth shaping noiseless words for a moment before he barks out a humorless laugh and says, tone dark and self-deprecating, “Because, Harry, I’ve been in love with you for six years. And apparently, I like to torture myself by pretending the two of you are actually mine.”

Harry can’t breathe. There’s a hollow ringing noise in his ears and he’s about ninety percent sure he’s having a heart attack. He can’t possible have heard Louis correctly. Harry’s mouth shapes the word, “What?” but nothing comes out.

Letting out a slightly hysterical laugh, Louis scrubs his hands over his face. “And now I’ve gone and fucked everything up by telling you.” He drops his hands so he can look at Harry, brows furrowed. “Listen, Hazza, I don’t want you to feel pressured to respond, or think that - that you have to try to reciprocate just because it’s me. I would rather we just forget about all of this and continue as best mates than -”

He cuts himself off and swallows, throat clicking audibly. Silence stretches across the gap between them while Harry tries to absorb what Louis has just said. He’s still stuck on the _‘I’m in love with you’_ part.

After a few wordless minutes, Louis says nervously, “Well, can you at least say something?”

“Six years?” Harry asks, pulse pounding in his ears. “You knew this whole time?”

Louis only hesitates for a moment before nodding. He looks so nervous, so unhappy and unsure, sitting there clutching at his juice like a lifeline. Harry is itching to reach out and touch, to reassure, but he just needs to know -

“Why did you never say anything?”

With a scrunch of his nose that’s so familiar, so endearing it makes Harry’s chest tighten a fraction, Louis says, “For the same reason I didn’t want to tell you now. Was worried I’d muck it all up.” He pauses for a second, then whispers, “Please tell me I haven’t mucked it all up.”

Finally, unable to hold back any longer, Harry pushes himself off of his lounger, intensely aware of the way Louis’ eyes are following his every movement. He nips Louis’ drink out of his hand and sets it on the ground, then clambers clumsily into Louis’ lap, knees framing his hips. It’s incredibly uncomfortable and the lounger creaks underneath them, but Harry pays it no mind, just loops his arms around Louis’ neck and closes the gap between them.

Louis freezes the second their mouths touch, so Harry pauses, waits for Louis to react - gives him the choice of pulling away or kissing back. It doesn’t take long. Louis lets out a gasp and his hands fly up to grasp Harry’s hips, holding tight as he tilts his head for a better angle. Harry parts his lips immediately, arms tightening around Louis’ neck as the kiss goes from sweet and hesitant to fierce and heated within seconds. He scoots in as close as he can, with his belly in the way, moaning when Louis nips at his bottom lip with his sharp vampire teeth, then starts to nibble along the curve of his jaw and kiss down the side of his neck.

“Harry, what -” Louis breathes between kisses, unwilling to stop. His hands keep squeezing at Harry’s hips, fingers kneading restlessly at the softness of his love handles. Harry grips the back of Louis’ shoulders and angles his head to give Louis better access to his neck. “What are you...”

Harry’s voice is gritty and breathless when he says, “Me too. All of it - me too.”

“Six years,” Louis laughs, scraping his teeth along the curve of Harry’s neck. It sends shivers rocketing down Harry’s spine, has heat pooling in his chest. “All that time wasted - I can’t believe you never noticed.”

“It took me five years to realize my _own_ feelings,” Harry moans, turning his head in a bit so Louis’ beard scrapes deliciously against the underside of his jaw.

Harry frowns when Louis pulls back a few centimeters so he can meet Harry’s eyes. He doesn’t want Louis to stop. Ever.

“Five?”

Shrugging, Harry slides his fingers up the back of Louis’ neck and plays absently with the hair at his nape. He looks down at the space between them, at the way his belly is pressed tight against Louis’ in their effort to get as close as possible. It looks both odd and incredibly hot. “When we first met, I fancied you quite a lot. You were dating Patrick, though, and then I started dating as a distraction, and I guess I just... put the idea out of my mind.” Harry lets out a laugh, leaning back just a bit so he can fit a hand between them and pat his stomach. “I can’t believe it took me getting pregnant with another man’s baby to actually bring us together.”

“Harry -” Louis starts, but Harry cuts him off with a shake of his head.

“I know it’s sort of weird, but do you think maybe -”

Louis slaps a hand across Harry’s mouth and, shocked, Harry’s eyes widen and his jaw goes slack, cheeks flushing pink. He resists the urge to nip at the palm of Louis’ hand.

“It’s not weird. I don’t care,” Louis says, an intensity in his voice that has more shivers rippling down Harry’s spine. “The baby doesn’t have to be mine to be _mine_.”

Harry’s breath catches in his throat at the implication behind Louis’ words, and Louis pauses, seeming to realize exactly what he’s just said.

He chokes a little, rushes to add, “I mean, if that’s what. If you think you might want... something like that. With me.”

Tears welling up in his throat, Harry lets out a watery laugh, then leans in to rest his forehead against Louis’. He whispers, voice thick, “Are you kidding? It’s all I’ve been able to think about for the past few weeks.”

Joy pulses in his chest, a bright flame flickering high, when Louis settles both hands on Harry’s belly between them and leans in for another kiss. It doesn’t take much for Harry to really get into it, heat coiling in the pit of his stomach as Louis tugs on his bottom lip with his teeth and sucks a bruise into the soft, sensitive skin below his ear, thumbs stroking over the bare skin of his tummy. Both of them half-hard already, Harry rocks his hips against Louis’, seeking contact, a bit of friction. He’s just about to scoot back a bit so he can touch Louis when the lounger gives a warning groan underneath them.

They both freeze. Laughing a bit breathlessly, Harry tightens his arms around Louis’ neck and whispers, “I don’t think these things are meant to support two and a half people.”

“Maybe we should take this inside, then,” Louis murmurs, the words slipping along Harry’s nerve endings and raising goosebumps across his skin. He sort of wants to do this out here, under the bright Mediterranean sun with the sound of waves rushing in their ears, but he’s a little afraid of what might happen to the loungers if they try, and he wants to get his mouth on Louis more than he wants to risk crashing to the ground in a heap of cushions and shredded bits of rattan.

“You know,” Harry smiles, nuzzling underneath Louis’ jaw where he can feel Louis’ pulse rabbiting against his lips, “you have to let me go if you want to move this indoors.”

Louis just shakes his head, hands sliding over Harry’s bum to clutch at his thighs. “No, I don’t think so. I’m not letting you go for one second.”

“What -”

Before Harry can even get the question out, he’s being hauled into the air, Louis’ arms banded underneath his thighs.

“Oh my god,” Harry groans, so turned on he can barely think straight. He clutches at Louis’ biceps, marveling at the strength there. “Louis, are you - fuck, you’re so fit.”

“Ah-ah,” Louis chides, smile playful, but a bit strained from the effort of carrying Harry inside. “No cursing around the baby, remember?”

Harry giggles and shakes his head. “They can’t hear us yet, no worries. Hey, Lou,” he muses, thoughtful and unbearably aroused, “d’you think you could fuck me against the wall?”

Louis sucks in a sharp breath and nearly stumbles at the question, eyes going wide and dark.

“Is that what you want?” he murmurs, turning once they get inside so he can press Harry’s back up against the wall. He angles his hips underneath Harry’s and flattens his palms against the wall on either side of Harry’s head, leaning in for a kiss. Harry moans into it, wrapping himself tight around Louis. He can feel the hard press of Louis’ cock against the curve of his bum, wants so badly to rub up against it, but he doesn’t want to risk unbalancing them.

“Please,” Harry whimpers, scratching at the back of Louis’ neck when he angles his hips up and thrusts slowly against Harry’s arse.

Louis slides a hand down to grip Harry’s bum, fingertips teasing along the curve of it and slipping down to ghost over his hole through the thin fabric of his swim trunks. Harry whines and thumps his head back against the wall. He’s so desperate, he can feel his cock leaking in his shorts, is absolutely certain that if Louis doesn’t fuck him soon, he’s going to start begging.

“Not this time,” Louis says, regret thick in his voice. “We weren’t prepared, I don’t have anything on me -”

He stops mid-sentence, hands and hips suddenly very still against Harry’s bum. Slowly, Harry cracks his eyes open to see what’s happened. Louis’ eyes are wide and distressed, mouth hanging open in horror. Frowning, Harry asks, “Louis? What is it?”

“I don’t have anything,” Louis whispers, aghast. “Nothing. I - I never even considered...”

It takes a moment for Louis’ words to work past the haze that has blanketed Harry’s brain, but when they do, he feels despair well up in his chest. Desperation thins his voice when he asks, “Oh, no. And we’re not even near any - d’you think the front desk would have anything?”

Louis lets out a slightly strangled laugh and says, “You want me to call the front desk to ask for lube and a condom?”

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry whines, slumping forward to rest his forehead against Louis’ shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Louis whispers, sounding so upset with himself. “I didn’t think this would be even a remote possibility, this was supposed to be a _platonic_ babymoon, I -”

Groaning, Louis eases back a bit so Harry can unwrap his legs from around Louis’ waist and slide gently to the floor.

They stand like that for a minute, Harry’s arms still around Louis’ neck and Louis’ hands stroking up and down Harry’s back, before Harry shakes off the disappointment and says determinedly, “Well, lube or no lube, I can still suck you off.”

He pushes Louis back a step, ignoring Louis’ protests about his back, and sinks to his knees, leaning in immediately to nose at Louis through the rough fabric of his shorts. When he slides his hands up the backs of Louis’ thighs and tips his head back, Louis is looking down at him, eyes wide and hands braced against the wall. He’s trembling.

“Harry, I -” Louis cuts off with an audible swallow. He lowers one of his hands and settles it gently on Harry’s head, fingers threading through Harry’s hair and tugging just a bit. He lets out a shaky laugh and says, “I’ve been thinking about this for six years, I don’t think I’m going to last very long.”

Warmth blooms in Harry’s chest and he leans in to nuzzle Louis’ thigh, bites at him gently through his shorts. “No judgment here, pregnancy hormones have left me a mess. Doesn’t take much to get me off, these days.”

Torn between wanting to draw this out, savor it a bit, and mouth-watering desperation, Harry turns his head to mouth at the hard length of Louis’ dick through his shorts, getting him nice and wet, before hooking his fingers in the waistband and tugging them right down to his ankles. Sitting back on his haunches, Harry lets out a slow, even breath. He’s seen Louis naked more times than he can remember, but never like this.

Harry takes a moment to admire Louis’ cock, long and thick and nicer than any cock Harry has ever seen, before wrapping a hand around the base and sucking the head into his mouth. Louis curses, his other hand dropping to rest on top of Harry’s head, fingers flexing repeatedly against his scalp.

Eyelashes fluttering, Harry pulls off and tips his head back to murmur, a smug smile curving his lips, “Don’t curse around the baby.”

Louis lets out a choked off laugh that trails off into another stream of curses as soon as Harry sucks him down again. Harry doesn’t waste time or bother teasing. He’s always been good at this, never had much of a gag reflex, so he sinks right down, taking in as much of Louis as he can in one go. Louis laughs breathlessly, fingers clenching in Harry’s hair before he seems to realize what he’s doing and lets go with a stammered apology. Harry squeezes at the back of Louis’ thigh and hums, trying his best to convey to Louis that he _wants_ him to pull his hair a little, but Louis doesn’t seem to get it because he settles his palms against the wall again, back curved so he can watch Harry suck his dick.

Letting the hair pulling thing go for now, Harry eases off a bit so he can tongue at Louis’ slit, pumping his hand along Louis’ shaft while he sucks, hard, on the head of Louis’ cock. He hums happily at the way Louis twitches in his mouth, spilling beads of precome onto his tongue. It’s been a while since Harry has done this, and his jaw is already starting to ache in the best way. Hungry for more, Harry sucks in a breath and takes Louis down again, tongue curled along the underside. He bobs his head, taking Louis deeper each time, until his lips meet his hand where it’s wrapped around the base of Louis’ cock and Louis’ head hits the back of his throat.

Harry moans at the feeling, absolutely loving it, and that has Louis letting out another stream of curses, littered through with Harry’s name. “Harry, _fuck_ , you’re so. Oh, fuck, I’m not - I need to just -”

Louis buries his hands in Harry’s hair again, tugging and forcing it out of its messy bun. Harry moans and goes completely slack when Louis holds him carefully still so that he can pump his hips shallowly, experimentally, dark eyes locked on Harry’s.

“Is this - is this okay?” he whispers, fingernails scraping along Harry’s scalp in the most delicious way.

Not wanting to nod, Harry moans his consent, eyelids fluttering in anticipation, and wraps both hands around the backs of Louis’ thighs for support. Louis starts slow with shallow, even thrusts, cock heavy on Harry’s tongue as he pushes in a bit deeper, a bit faster each time. Harry can feel Louis’ thighs tense when his control starts to slip, can see it in Louis’ eyes when he’s close to coming. His thrusts get a bit wilder, deeper, and when incoherent noises start to spill from Louis’ mouth, movements gone erratic, Harry grips Louis’ thighs tight and meets his thrust, sucking him down so he hits the back of his throat. He swallows around the head of Louis’ cock, triumph thrilling in his chest when Louis lets out a hoarse shout and spills down the back of his throat.

It feels like Louis comes forever, but Harry doesn’t want to let him go, tries to protest when Louis eases out of his mouth with a strangled laugh. “Jesus _christ_ , Hazza,” he wheezes, voice throaty and weak. “I think you’ve just successfully sucked me brain out through my cock.”

Harry’s mouth feels a bit numb, but he thinks he manages a dopey smile in response. He gets just enough time to tug Louis’ shorts back up his legs before Louis is fitting his hands around his hips and pulling him to his feet. Boneless and dazed, jaw aching pleasantly, Harry slumps back against the wall. He’s so hard he can barely think, mind already hazy, reflexes slow. Louis’ hands trail wildfire along his skin as he pushes his hair gently out of his face, then slides them down his sides to grip his hips again.

He does manage to lift his noodle arms around Louis’ neck when Louis blankets his body with his own and draws him into a kiss, eyelids falling shut when Louis kisses down the side of his neck and slips a hand into his swim trunks. Harry’s brain whites out the moment Louis’ hand touches his dick, and he barely gets two strokes in before Harry is coming, his entire body trembling so hard he has to cling to Louis’ neck so he doesn’t collapse.

The first thing Harry hears once he’s come down a bit, the white noise in his head receding, is “Wow.”

“I told you,” Harry slurs, head lolling against Louis’ shoulder. He feels like... He’s pretty sure he’s never come that hard or that fast before, and he’s not quite sure he’ll be able to get his legs to work for a while.

Somehow, though, Louis _always_ seems to know what he needs. Harry lets out a breathless, loopy giggle when Louis sweeps him off his feet - literally - with an arm under his knees and the other supporting his back. He cradles Harry against his chest for the short walk to the bed, then sets him gently down against the pillows so he can prop him up and carefully take his robe and shorts off.

“Stay right here,” Louis murmurs, smoothing a hand tenderly across Harry’s cheek.

Harry just smiles and shrugs, too sleepy and loose-limbed to budge, and watches Louis shuffle off to the toilet. He returns a moment later with a damp washcloth and a bottle of water, forces Harry to sit up and drink the whole bottle while he wipes him down. Only once Harry has downed the whole thing, cold water wonderfully refreshing, does Louis pull back the blankets and help Harry roll, boneless, onto his side. To Harry’s distress, Louis starts to turn away from the bed rather than get in with him, so he musters up all of his remaining strength and reaches back to grasp Louis’ wrist.

“No,” he protests eloquently. “Stay.”

Louis blinks at him in surprise and lifts the dirty washcloth. “I was just -” He pauses then, a soft smile spreading across his face. Shaking his head, he drops the washcloth to the floor, then bends over to take off his own shorts. “Nevermind, I’ll deal with it later. Budge over a bit, will you? You’re taking up the whole bed.”

With the last of his energy, Harry shuffles toward the center of the bed and waits impatiently for Louis to get in behind him. He lets out a deep, satisfied sigh when Louis curls around him, eyelids fluttering shut as Louis traces aimless patterns over his belly with chilly, damp fingertips.

Burrowing into the curve of Louis’ body and pushing his belly against Louis’ hands at the same time, Harry mutters sleepily, “Round two when we wake up.”

He falls asleep to the sound of Louis’ laughter, the feel of Louis’ chest rumbling pleasantly against his back, and Louis’ reassuring whisper of, “Yes, love. Round two when you wake up.”

 

‘Round two’ comes at two in the morning, when Harry wakes up to the delicious scent of souvlaki, and ends up being nothing more than Louis feeding Harry sticky bits of baklava, then licking the honey off his face. They share a bubble bath afterward, Harry sprawled between Louis’ legs, and kiss lazily while fragrant steam rises around them. After a while, though, the heat of the water and the sound of waves rushing against the shore through the open window lulls Harry into a contented doze, and their night ends at four in the morning, with both Harry and Louis passed out on the bed, still wrapped in towels, their hands clasped loosely and resting on Harry’s tummy.

~*~

On their last full day in Greece, Harry wakes up face-down on a lounger, pillows built up around his stomach so he can rest comfortably on his belly, to Louis straddling the backs of his thighs and rubbing sun cream into his shoulders. His voice is thick and groggy from sleep when he twists his head to try and see Louis’ face, mumbles, “Lou?”

“I didn’t want you to burn,” Louis explains. He kneads just under his shoulder blades, thumbs working out knots while he massages lotion into Harry’s skin, and Harry moans. It steals his breath away but it feels so good, and the way Louis is rocking against the curve of his bum is maddening. Harry is suddenly so, incredibly glad that Louis convinced him to sunbathe on their little secluded patio, rather than by the swimming pool.

The morning after their grand confessions, Harry had been rooting through his bag in search of a spare hair tie and had instead found the small bottle of lube he’d tucked in there, along with his vibrator. The two of them had wasted no time in putting the lube to good use, and Harry has spent the last two days in a pleasantly loose sex-haze that, quite frankly, he hopes never ends. He and Louis have six years to make up for, and Harry is eager to repay that debt.

Shifting awkwardly against the pillows underneath him, Harry rocks back against Louis as best he can, trying to rub himself up against Louis’ crotch. Louis just clucks his tongue, though, and slides his hands lower, so he can knuckle at the base of Harry’s spine. It feels like heaven, Louis’ hands right where Harry needs them with the added baby weight, but he can’t stop shifting restlessly against the cushion of the lounger. His dick is hardening in his swim shorts and the rough material of the cushion underneath him is electric against his sensitive nipples, and every press of Louis’ slick, warm hands stokes the fire burning steadily underneath his skin.

One of the best and worst aspects of being pregnant is that Harry is ready to go at all times, and it doesn’t take much to bring him off. He ruts mindlessly against the lounger, doesn’t even realize that the whimpers and moans spilling out into the cool, breezy air are coming from him until Louis suddenly stretches out on top of him, propped up on his elbows so that he’s pinning his hips to the cushion but not putting any pressure on Harry’s stomach.

“Louis,” Harry whines, unable to move his hips and get friction on his throbbing cock. He can feel the hot, hard line of Louis’ dick against the back of his thigh and he tries kicking his feet a bit, anything to try and get Louis to do _something_ rather than just lay there. He doesn’t realize Louis is naked until the movement of his legs has Louis’ cock slipping between his thighs.

“Fuck,” Louis hisses, hips pumping automatically, and Harry makes a noise of encouragement, squeezes his legs together as hard as he can and locks them at the ankle. “Harry, Christ, that’s not -”

Harry shakes his head, twists it around so he can look back at Louis and demands, “Fuck me.”

Louis moans at that, high and breathless, and rocks down into the tight space between Harry’s thighs. Louis’ cock rubs up against Harry’s balls through his shorts and the weight of Louis’ body on his, the movement of his hips, puts delicious pressure on Harry’s dick. Harry shivers, trying to work a hand underneath his chest so he can get to his nipples. He feels Louis’ teeth sink into his shoulder, shivers at the heat of Louis’ breath against his skin when he gasps, “Like this? Or do you want my cock?”

Harry drops his head so that it hangs between his shoulders, neck exposed for Louis while he thinks. Louis takes the hint and nibbles on the back of his neck, sending sparks twisting down his spine. “Your cock,” Harry decides, “your cock, _please_.”

The warm pressure of Louis’ body is gone so fast Harry is left reeling. He turns his head to watch Louis trot back into the bungalow, takes in miles of smooth, tanned skin, the thick lines of his legs, the ink wrapped around both of his arms as he roots around in the drawers for the prized bottle of lube they’ve tossed somewhere. He finds it underneath Harry’s shirt from the previous night, lifts it in the air with a noise of triumph, then hurries back out onto the patio. Harry’s mouth waters at the sight of him, cock hard and flushed, curving up toward his stomach when he stops beside the lounger to uncap the bottle.

Without waiting for instruction, Harry works his swim shorts off, then shuffles up onto his hands and knees, tossing the spare cushions aside, and spreads his legs to the edges of the lounger to try and make enough room for Louis between them. He turns to watch Louis spread lube onto his fingers, catches the exact moment Louis really _looks_ at him.

“God, Harry,” Louis chokes, one hand dropping to circle his cock and give it one sharp tug and a squeeze at the base. “Look at you.”

Harry knows he must look a sight, on his hands and knees with his rounded belly and his arse in the air, too desperate to even move inside, but he’s _ready_ , he wants Louis inside of him, and he doesn’t care how shameless he looks. Louis eyes are reverent, though, as they look him up and down before he moves around to the foot of the lounger and settles himself between Harry’s splayed legs.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs, petting a hand down Harry’s side. The lounger creaks and Harry whimpers when he feels Louis’ mouth against the curve of his arse, right before the tip of one of Louis’ fingers rubs over his hole.

Harry’s thighs start to tremble before Louis has even pushed past his rim, and Louis uses his free hand to knead at Harry’s side, squeezing his love handles and spreading his cheeks as he works him open with quick, deft thrusts of his fingers. Harry yelps when Louis twists two fingers inside of him and finds his prostate, can’t help the way Louis’ name slips out of his mouth on a moan that carries on the wind.

“Shh,” Louis soothes, but Harry can’t hear past the thundering of his own heartbeat in his ears as Louis tucks in a third finger and rubs relentlessly against his prostate.

His dick is so hard it _aches_ and he knows he’s probably making a mess of the cushion below him already, but that just fuels him on, has him working his hips back against Louis’ hand, has him chanting, “Fuck me, fuck me, Louis, _please_ fuck me.”

“I’ve got you,” Louis rasps, pulling his fingers out. He chuckles when Harry whines and wiggles back shamelessly. “‘M coming, love, patience.”

“Don’t have any,” Harry gasps, working his hips fruitlessly in thin air. His skin is buzzing, a live wire crackling just beneath the surface.

He strains his ears for the sound of Louis slicking himself up, nearly sobs with relief when he feels one of Louis’ hands grasp his hip and the head of Louis’ cock nudging against his hole. Too impatient to wait, Harry pushes back against him, grits his teeth together when Louis curses loudly and grabs onto his other hip, then pushes inside with one sharp thrust.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Louis gasps, curling down over Harry’s back. His forehead rests against the back of Harry’s shoulder and Harry can hear him muttering, “Too fast, you’re so _tight_ , fuck, Harry.”

“No,” Harry argues, “‘m good. Move, please. I’m good.”

His knees are beginning to ache, but he forgets about them completely the moment Louis straightens up and pulls almost all of the way out. The drag of Louis’ cock inside of him has his toes curling and his fingers scrabbling at the fabric of the cushion, has his jaw clenched in anticipation as he waits for Louis to thrust back in. The moan he lets out when Louis finally does is embarrassingly loud, but their neighbors will just have to deal with it.

Louis sets a hard pace, curling back down over his back and fucking into him in quick, short thrusts that have Harry on edge immediately. Breathless words of encouragement whispered against the back of Harry’s neck have him shivering all the way down to his toes, and when one of Louis’ hands slides up to rub at his belly, his cock twitches and he comes so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that his arms give out and he falls to his elbows.

“Harry,” Louis gasps, but Harry just shakes his head, too absorbed in the rolling waves of his orgasm to be able to answer, entire body shivering as he paints stripes of come across the cushion.

The new angle has Louis’ grip tightening on his hips, and Harry can feel it the moment Louis starts to lose it, can feel his hands start to shake and his rhythm go erratic as he chases his own orgasm. A moan slips out when Harry feels Louis start to come inside of him and his own cock gives a feeble twitch, one last drop of come beading at the tip. This is his favorite part of having sex while pregnant, of having sex with _Louis_ , Harry has discovered. He just loves this, loves feeling full and marked up and _claimed_ , shivers knowing that Louis loves it just as much as he does.

They stay like that for a few minutes, Harry on his elbows and Louis draped across his back, while they catch their breath and try to calm the roar of blood in their ears. When Louis finally moves, sitting up on his knees and pulling out carefully, Harry groans and tries to shift over so he can lay down on his side. Despite his short nap, he’s exhausted from the combination of sex and their earlier snorkeling trip, and the aches in his knees and arms are just starting to creep back in. There isn’t really anywhere to go, though, and Louis catches him before he can topple off the side of the lounger.

“Woah, steady there,” Louis laughs, helping him shift up onto his knees and turn so they’re facing each other.

Harry wraps his arms around Louis’ neck and buries his face against the crook of his shoulder, mumbles, “‘M sticky.”

“Yeah, you’re pretty ripe,” Louis agrees, pinching his side and giggling at Harry’s indignant ‘ _hey!_ ’ “Let’s take a bath, eh, Curly? I’ve got a bottle of apple cider in the mini-fridge for you, we can light that candle you insist on taking everywhere and put in some bubbles. It’ll be proper romantic. No more platonic babymoon for us.”

Harry’s face lights up and he draws back, nodding his head. “Please. Although,” he giggles, “I think we did away with the ‘platonic’ part quite effectively the other day.”

Grinning, Louis nuzzles at the side of Harry’s nose, pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth that has butterflies fluttering in Harry’s chest. “We did, didn’t we?” he murmurs, kissing him again once, twice, before pulling back and landing a light smack to Harry’s bum that almost, _almost_ has Harry’s cock twitching with interest again. “Alright, darling, you get the candle and the bubbles, I’ll get the cider and draw the bath.”

At Harry’s nod, Louis pats him on the bum again, then clambers off the lounger. Harry follows suit, struggling to walk on his wobbling legs. It’s not a big bungalow, at least, and the candle is sitting by the sink, ready to be used anyway. He sets it down next to the tub and digs through the bottles of soap the resort has left them, looking for bubble bath and trying to ignore the feeling of come drying on his skin.

Within minutes, the spicy scent of cinnamon and the sound of running water are filling the room, and Louis is slipping into the water behind Harry and pressing a glass of chilled cider into his hand. Harry leans back against Louis’ chest with a contented sigh, wiggling happily when Louis rubs his belly with soapy hands and tucks his chin down over his shoulder. They’ve got the bathroom window open again so they can still hear the distant rumble of waves and the cheerful twittering of birds, so the scent of fresh flowers mingles with the spice of the candle and the light of the sun just beginning to set paints the room in a brilliant golden light.

Harry takes a sip of the cider, then sets it aside so he can sink lower in the water and rest his head against Louis’ chest. The surface of the water just skims the top of his belly, coating his skin in a thin sheen of fragrant bubbles. With a deep, content sigh, Harry links his fingers with Louis and turns his head so he can stare out the window, thinks absently that he would be happy to spend the rest of their trip right here, if he could.

~*~

Going back to the unpredictable English weather and a full work week is a bummer. The only thing that makes it bearable - besides, of course, for the fact that Harry does actually love his job - is the fact that photographing happy couples no longer makes him sad because he _is_ part of a happy couple now. They haven’t told the lads yet, but Harry hadn’t been able to keep the secret from his mum, had spilled the beans within an hour of touching down on British soil. Which, of course, meant that Robin and Gemma knew, and that Louis had to tell his family before Jay got a surprising phone call from Anne, and it’s been a long week of smug emojis and endless ‘I told you so’ texts that Harry has, rather successfully, ignored.

It’s currently Friday, which means an early afternoon for Harry and date night with Louis. Harry wraps up his last client of the day, an adorable older couple and their three Boston Terriers, and sends them on their way so he can collapse into his chair and haul his feet up onto his desk. It’s bloody hot out today, and Harry’s feet are swollen in his boots. Groaning only a little, Harry spreads his legs to make room for his belly so he can lean forward and take off his boots.

He’s got about two hours until Louis is due to pick him up for the start of their date, and there’s an overnight bag sitting in the corner to save him the trip home. There’s a sizeable stack of work piled up on Harry’s desk, but all Harry wants to do right now is strip out of his pregnancy jeans and do some yoga to try and loosen up his tight muscles. It takes Harry a minute to haul himself out of his squashy desk chair, something that probably shouldn’t make him this giddy with happiness, but he’s just in love with everything about being pregnant, can’t wait to do this again and again.

Harry hums to himself as he shuffles to the front of the studio in socked feet to lock the door and pull the shades, then back across to throw open the French doors leading to a small garden at the back, overflowing with roses, lilies, and heavy jasmine vines that have taken over the fence completely. Breathing in the scent of flowers and sunshine, Harry switches the DVD in the player along the wall, takes out one that shows a looping slideshow of photos Harry has taken over the years and replaces it with one of his pregnancy yoga DVDs. He fetches the yoga mat he keeps stored underneath his desk, then strips naked and pulls on a pair of shorts right there in the middle of the studio before sinking, cross-legged, to the floor and starting up the DVD.

Harry has worked his way through most of the exercises and has only just gotten into the downward facing dog position, the beginning of the wind-down, when he hears the lock click and the door jingle open, followed by, “Hazza? I left the house a bit early, I thought maybe I could help you -”

He cuts off mid-sentence, and Harry drops his head even further to try and see Louis from between his splayed legs. Sadly, all he can see are Louis’ scuffed up Vans and his legs, clad in a pair of skin-tight jeans with rips at the knees. Burying a smile in his shoulder, Harry wiggles his bum and says, “You could join me for the last few positions, if you’d like.”

“I’ll show you a position I like,” Louis quips, moving closer so he can pinch Harry’s arse.

“ _Louis_!” Harry squeaks, kicking out with one socked foot. He misses, but Louis moves away all the same, laughing softly.

“Alright, alright, I’ll just sit here and watch while you finish up.”

Harry turns his head to watch as Louis walks over to his desk and flops down into his chair, turning it so he has a perfect view of Harry in the center of the studio. Shaking his head, Harry drops his gaze back down to the floor and tries to get back into the zone. It’s a little difficult, knowing that Louis’ eyes are on him, tracking his movements, but he manages to finish out the exercise and do the final breathing routine without once giving in and looking back at Louis.

Leaving the mat on the floor, Harry switches off the DVD, then tugs his hair out of the bun, shaking it out so it falls around his shoulders in loose curls. He’s just the slightest bit sweaty from the heat seeping in through the open doors, but he needs to get dressed if he’s going to leave the building any time soon. Sighing, Harry starts to walk over to his bag so he can grab a change of clothes, but Louis meets him halfway, stops him with hands on his hips and pulls him into a kiss.

“Hi,” Louis whispers against Harry’s mouth. He’s smiling, Harry can feel it, and it makes his fingers and toes tingle.

“I’m sweaty,” Harry responds, wrinkling his nose, but Louis just laughs and ducks his head so he can lick Harry’s shoulder. Harry squeals and tries to wiggle out of his grip, but Louis just holds him tighter and nibbles across his collarbone and up the side of his neck, trailing kisses and sharp little nips until Harry has gone loose and pliant against him, arms winding around Louis’ neck.

“You’re so beautiful,” Louis mumbles into the side of Harry’s neck, arms circling Harry’s waist so he can pull him closer.

Harry’s entire body feels suffused with warmth and happiness, like he’s swallowed a star and can feel it shimmering and fizzing along his veins. Squeezing his eyes shut, he buries his face in Louis’ shoulder and whispers, “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Louis whispers back, pressing a kiss to the top of Harry’s head.

They stand like that for a few minutes, wrapped up in each other, the summer heat and the lovely scent of flowers curling around them with the breeze filtering slowly into the room. Harry only pulls away once his back begins to ache from the way he’s slumped against Louis, and he eases back with a soft groan, hand fisted in the small of his back.

“I should put some clothes on,” Harry says with a wince, hobbling over to where he’s stored his bag. He ends up just pulling on the same pair of jeans and the shirt he’d had on all day, wanting to shower at Louis’ before he changes into his date outfit. Which... he should probably tell Louis about first. He looks up from where he’s buttoning his top and calls across the studio, “Hey, Lou? D’you think we can head back to your place first so I can shower?”

Cocking his head, Louis asks, “You don’t want to get ready at yours?”

Smiling sheepishly, Harry shakes his head. He’s hesitant to tell Louis why he’d rather go to his place, but he’ll have to admit to it eventually, so he may as well just go for it now and get Louis’ smug gloating out of the way. Harry toes at his boots, gearing himself up to bend over so he can put them on, and mumbles, “It’s easier for me at yours. Climbing all of those stairs has gotten a bit tiring.”

“See? I _told_ you, you knob! And you didn’t want to listen to me.” Tutting, Louis crosses the studio so he can kneel in front of Harry and help him into his boots. Biting his lip, Harry settles a hand on Louis’ shoulder and lets him slide the boot onto his foot, quietly grateful that he hadn’t had to ask, that Louis had just instinctively known, like he always does. “You know it’s only going to get worse, Hazza. You’re only halfway there.”

Louis looks up at Harry, one hand cupping Harry’s knee and the other holding his second boot out so he can slide his foot into it.

“Come on,” Louis coaxes, squeezing Harry’s knee in encouragement. “Move in with me. It makes sense, doesn’t it? I mean, it made sense before, too, but now more than ever.”

Chewing on his bottom lip, Harry watches silently as Louis zips his boots up and pulls the ankles of his jeans down over the tops. It really does make sense, now that he and Louis are together. It’s not like he can see himself breaking up with Louis at some point down the line, and Louis’ house is so big, so much easier to move around. Harry spends about half a second wondering if they’re moving too fast, then bursts out laughing. They’ve been moving toward this point for six years now, there’s no such thing as ‘too fast’ with him and Louis.

“What’s so funny?” Louis asks as he straightens back up, fiddling with the hem of Harry’s shirt.

Harry shakes his head and settles his hands on Louis’ chest, still smiling. “I just had this absurd thought that maybe we’re moving too fast.” At Louis’ raised eyebrows, Harry laughs again and says, “I know! I don’t know where the thought came from. Ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous,” Louis parrots, pulling Harry close. “So... does that mean you’re going to move in with me? Is that what’s moving fast?”

Biting his lip, Harry ducks his head and says, “I mean, you could argue that everything is moving quite fast.” He picks absently at the collar of Louis’ shirt, not quite _nervous_ , but feeling a bit...squirmy, nonetheless. “Been dating a week and we’ve already said ‘I love you’ and are having a baby. Why not throw moving in together into the mix?”

Louis snorts and mutters, “Proper romantic, you are,” but he pulls Harry against him and presses firm, happy kisses to his temples, his forehead, both cheeks, and, finally, his mouth, whispering I love you’s between each one.

Giddiness swells in Harry’s chest. He slides his arms around Louis’ neck and wiggles as close as he can, throwing himself into the kiss.

They lose track of time, standing there wrapped up in each other, kissing contentedly. By the time they pull apart, Harry’s cheeks are flushed and his pulse is thundering along pleasantly. “I think,” he pants, “we should probably go now, otherwise we’ll miss our reservation.”

“Oh, _really_ ,” Louis hums, leering, but he lets go of Harry and scoots around him so he can grab Harry’s overnight bag for him. “Alright, love, let’s go get ready. We can continue this later.”

Louis ends that sentence with a wink and a squeeze of Harry’s bum as he passes.

“You’d better finish this later,” Harry mutters, but he’s grinning uncontrollably as he grabs his phone and keys and follows Louis out the door.

 

“Okay, okay, my turn,” Louis declares, kicking lightly at Harry’s ankle underneath the table.

Harry scrunches his nose and digs his spoon into the spumoni sitting in the center of the table while he waits. It takes a minute, but then Louis taps his own spoon against the side of the dish and says, “Got it. Nathaniel.”

Brow furrowing, Harry tries to conjure up an image of Nathaniel in his mind. “Ah, uni boyfriend.” He shrugs and slips a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth, waits a moment for it to melt on his tongue before continuing. “He was really nice.”

“Nice,” Louis deadpans, staring blankly at him.

“Yeah, _nice_. He brought me flowers every Friday. Plus...” A wicked smile stretches across his face and his voice drops to a whisper when he adds, “he ate my arse like it was made of candy.”

Harry bursts into laughter when Louis chokes on some ice cream, face turning beet red as he struggles for air. The people seated at the tables around them are staring, but Harry doesn’t care. It was worth it for Louis’ reaction.

It takes a few minutes for Louis to catch his breath, but when he finally manages to draw in a deep breath, eyes watering, he wheezes, “Is that a challenge?”

Grinning so wide his cheeks are beginning to ache, Harry twirls his spoon between his fingers and shrugs casually. “That depends. Does knowing that make you feel... inadequate?”

“Excuse you,” Louis squawks, “I am not _inadequate_.”

Giggling uncontrollably now, Harry drops his spoon and pushes the ice cream dish aside so he can lean across the table, cup Louis’ cheeks, and press a smacking kiss to his mouth.

“Of course you’re not inadequate,” he soothes, sitting back down before any of the other guests have a fit. “My bum is _quite_ content.”

Looking only slightly mollified, Louis grumbles, “Well, good. It better be.”

Still giggling, Harry slides a foot up the inside of Louis’ leg and murmurs, “Why don’t we get the check so we can go home and see just how content my bum is?”

Louis’ answering grin is wolf-like. He drops his spoon and lifts a hand for their waiter, leans in so no one else can hear when he says, the heat in his voice shivering along Harry’s nerve-endings, “I can promise you, you won’t even remember the meaning of content after I’m done with you.”

~*~

“I think I like this color best.”

The only sounds in the room are the rustle of paint chips and the occasional squeak from the yoga ball Harry is balancing on. He frowns down at the chips in his hand, reconsidering for the eighteenth time. Dove gray, pale lemonade, or misty green? Harry lets out a soft, frustrated huff, shifting all three of the chips to one hand so he can massage the side of his belly with the other. The baby has been kicking up a storm all morning, and he hasn’t been able to find a comfortable position yet. He’s already had to change out of his restrictive clothes, has been lounging around in just pants and a thin silk robe, left unbelted so he doesn’t get too warm.

Louis crawls across the room from where he’s been browsing furniture sites on his laptop, looking for a nursery set that matches the vision Harry has for the room. Harry loves him quite a lot. He comes to a stop beside the yoga ball and settles down on the floor so he can rub both hands over Harry’s tummy in soothing circles. “Let’s see it, babe.”

“Well, now I’m not sure again,” Harry grumbles, feeling tears well up in his eyes. One fat tear spills over, tracking down his cheek, and Harry swipes at it, frustrated that he’s crying, which just brings on even more tears.

“Hey,” Louis coos, clambering up onto his knees so he can push Harry’s hair out of his face and cup his cheeks, thumbs swiping through the tear tracks. “Sweetheart, don’t cry. It’s okay if you can’t decide yet, we’ve still got three months until the room has to be ready. Why don’t we look at the chips together? We can at least get it down to two colors.”

Tears already abating, Harry blows out an unsteady breath and wraps his hand around the back of Louis’ neck, squeezing gratefully. “I’m sorry,” he says with a watery laugh. “The baby hasn’t stopped kicking all day and my hormones are all over the place.”

“Don’t apologize,” Louis tuts, settling his hands on Harry’s belly again. Leaning in so his lips brush Harry’s stomach, Louis whispers, “Be nice to your daddy, Kumquat. He’s working very hard on cooking you properly.”

Harry groans as the kicking picks up even more. The baby always responds to Louis’ voice. Harry can’t blame it, really, but after the morning he’s had, he’s ready for some peace. Louis looks delighted by the response every time, though, which makes it difficult to really be annoyed. Sighing, Harry waves the paint chips. “Let’s get this over with so I can check at least one thing off my list.”

“Right,” Louis nods, settling back on his heels and holding his hands out. “Lay them on me.”

Harry hands the paint chips to him and watches quietly as Louis mulls them over, rolling his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger anxiously. An idea comes to him just as Louis lifts his head and says, “Alright, here’s what we should do.” He tosses the green paint chip aside, lifts the other two, and says, “We paint the room gray and white, then accent with yellows.”

Harry lets out a surprised laugh. “That’s exactly what I just thought of. It would look so lovely with the white furniture.”

A beaming smile spreads across Louis’ face and he stands so he can tug Harry into a smacking kiss, murmurs, “Dream team.”

Harry sits quietly for a few minutes, surveying the room contentedly while Louis kneads at his shoulders. As if it can sense their satisfaction, the baby has finally stopped kicking so enthusiastically, is just wiggling around a bit now, and Harry is so _happy_ they’ve finally made a decision and can start painting. He’s so wrapped up in his thoughts and visions of the nursery that he only jumps a little when Louis breaks the silence with a hesitant, “Hazza?”

Harry hums, turning his head so he can look up at Louis in question. He looks... oddly nervous, which has anxiety twisting in Harry’s stomach. “What is it?” he asks, suddenly afraid of the answer.

Louis sighs and shoves a hand through his hair nervously. “I, uh. I need to tell you something.”

The bottom drops out of Harry’s stomach and, even though he _knows_ it’s absurd even as he’s saying it, he whispers, “You’re breaking up with me.”

Louis lets out a bark of laughter. “ _What_? No, never. We just chose the colors for the nursery, why would I be breaking up with you?” Harry’s guess seems to have thrown Louis off, and it takes him a minute to collect himself again. Shaking his head, he says, “ _No_ , I just. I may have...”

He cuts off with a frustrated groan and pulls away so he can pace in front of Harry.

“Okay, well you know how I’m a family lawyer.” Harry rolls his eyes and doesn’t bother responding, just waits for Louis to continue. He doesn’t feel _quite_ as anxious, now that he knows Louis isn’t breaking up with him, even though he _knew_ regardless. “Well, you also know that I deal with a lot of custody cases.”

Louis pauses in front of Harry, waiting for him to respond. Harry just raises an impatient eyebrow, confused as to why Louis is telling him all of this. He knows what Louis does for a living, they discuss it all the time.

Rolling his eyes, Louis throws his hands up and continues, “Okay, fine. I know you don’t like to talk about it, that it’s a sore subject, but I... may have found and contacted the baby’s father?”

It takes a moment for Harry to comprehend what Louis is telling him, but when he does -

“ _What_? Why? How?” The words stick in Harry’s throat. His pulse is racing, too many confusing emotions twisting and turning in his chest. Confusion, anger, gratitude, betrayal, embarrassment. Finally, he settles on hurt, whispers, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Louis holds his hands out and says, tone calm and soothing, “I didn’t want to upset you. I remembered who you went home with that night, the drummer from that horrible band, and I used my special lawyer powers to find him. Listen, babe, you’re twenty-six weeks pregnant with a stranger’s baby, he needed to know. And as your best friend and lawyer, even moreso as your _boyfriend_ , I needed to know if he, er.” He coughs, suddenly nervous again. “If he would give up custody and let me adopt the baby, at some point in the near future.”

Harry’s heart stops in his chest, all other emotions forgotten, taken over completely by shock, anxiety, and, most of all, hope. Heart in his throat, Harry croaks, “What did he say?”

“Erm, he was in quite a bit of shock at first, understandably.” Louis’ nose scrunches as he tries to recall the conversation. “Once it sunk in, he said he wanted to see you.”

“Oh,” Harry gasps, surprised. He hadn’t expected to ever see or hear from him again, and he had been perfectly fine with it, if he’s honest.

“I told him no,” Louis says flatly, effectively cutting off that line of thought. “He got squirrely about the baby and custody and the idea of settling and, to be honest, he’s just a giant twat.”

“Louis,” Harry chokes, laughter bubbling up in his throat.

Louis grimaces before admitting, “There’s more. After he gave written consent to give up all parental rights, I, er. May have threatened him with bodily harm if he ever came near you without getting my permission first.”

Harry’s hand flies to his mouth and he gasps, “ _Louis_!”

Louis rushes to add, “If you decide you do want to see him, I can contact him right away, I just.” His mouth twists into a frown. “He admitted he doesn’t want a baby. He’s just curious, but he’s got no concept of consequences and the feelings involved here, and I just want to protect you.”

Heart swelling in his chest, Harry struggles to get off the yoga ball. His belly has grown steadily larger over the past month and it’s thrown off his center of gravity. He stumbles a little once he finally does make it onto his feet, and Louis has to catch him around the waist. Laughing breathlessly, Harry grasps Louis’ biceps until he’s found his balance again, then throws his arms around his shoulders and buries his face in the crook of his neck.

“Our hero,” he whispers, pressing a damp kiss to the side of Louis’ neck. He’s crying again, but they’re happy tears this time.

“No one fucks with my family,” Louis growls.

Harry pulls back a bit so he can scowl at Louis and hiss, “ _Language_ , Louis. The baby can hear you perfectly well now.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Louis rubs a hand over Harry’s belly and ducks down a bit so he can talk to it directly. “Don’t repeat anything you hear, Kumquat. Your dads were just having an adult conversation.”

“Dads,” Harry parrots, a thrill running through him at the thought, the realization that this is really happening. Louis wants to adopt his baby, he wants to be a _family_.

It happens so fast, Harry is left dizzy with it, clutching desperately at Louis’ shoulders. His pulse is racing, blood thundering through his veins, and he needs -

“Louis.”

“What is it, love?” Louis asks, stroking his palms up and down Harry’s back. His palms are warm through the silk, and it just fans the flames licking at Harry’s skin. Pausing, Louis takes in Harry’s flushed cheeks, his blown pupils, and asks, concerned, “Harry, are you alright? You look - _oh_.”

A smug grin spreads across Louis’ face, eyes crinkling at the corners. He slips his hands lower on Harry’s back, the tips of his fingers just skimming the curve of Harry’s bum.

“You liked that, did you?” he murmurs, voice like velvet, slipping along Harry’s nerve endings and sending shivers right down to his toes. “I think you might be the only person on the planet who gets off on domesticity and family talk.”

He’s not unaffected, though, Harry discovers when Louis draws him into quick, dirty kiss that leaves him reeling. Louis’ eyes are a bit wild when he looks around the room, his voice a bit desperate when he growls, “Why did we choose the farthest room from ours for the nursery?”

Desperation is eating at him now, making Harry’s skin feel too tight, like he’s about to burst into flame. “Hurry,” he just whines, follows it up with a chant of, “hurry, hurry, hurry.”

They practically run for their bedroom, racing up the stairs as quickly as Harry can manage without toppling over. He’s out of breath by the time they make it to their room, breathless and giddy and so turned on he can barely form a coherent thought, every fiber of his being straining toward Louis.

Louis sheds his trackies and shirt as quickly as he can, then scrambles back onto the bed, hands jittering while he waits impatiently for Harry. Harry’s fingers are trembling as he slips out of the robe and shoves his pants down his legs unceremoniously. He grabs the bottle of lube, already set out on the bedside table, and clambers gracelessly onto the bed, crawling across it until he’s kneeling by Louis’ hip. He drops the bottle on Louis’ chest and says, as calm as he can manage, “I’m going to be honest with you, Lou. If you don’t make quick work of this and get inside me fast, I’m doing this myself.”

Louis chokes out a laugh and snatches the bottle up, sitting up. Before he can move, though, Harry throws one leg across Louis’ lap so that he’s straddling his hips and wiggles his bum impatiently.

“Christ,” Louis curses, followed by a muffled thumping noise.

Frowning, Harry twists his head around to look over his shoulder, sees that Louis has dropped the bottle of lube. His cheeks are flushed bright red, eyes wide and locked on Harry’s arse, and a secret thrill of pride curls in Harry’s chest at his ability to render Louis useless like this. Now is not the _time_ , though. He wants Louis inside of him so badly he’s itchy with it. Pushing his bottom lip out into a pout, Harry begs, “Louis, please.”

Eyes nearly black, Louis shakes himself out of his stupor and grabs for the lube with a trembling hand. “Yes, yes. I’ve got you, love.”

Anticipation blooms in Harry’s belly. He settles his hands on the bed and rests his weight on his palms, waiting as patiently as he can. He nearly jumps when one of Louis’ hands smooths across the small of his back, pressing and kneading just a bit.

“Ready, darling?” Louis asks.

Harry nods immediately, fingers digging into the mattress when he feels the tip of a slick finger against his hole. His head drops between his shoulders as Louis starts to press inside, toes curling with the pleasure of it. He lets loose a long, low moan and wiggles his hips, pushing back against Louis’ hand immediately, silently begging for more.

True to his word, Louis opens Harry up quickly, movements just a bit rough. Apologies trip off Louis’ tongue every time Harry gasps or twitches, but Harry _likes_ it, loves the feeling of Louis’ fingers stretching him wide, prepping him to take his cock. By the time Louis has worked up to three fingers, the pads of them brushing Harry’s prostate with every stroke, he’s dripping precome and muttering a steady stream of pleas.

Finally, _finally_ , Louis pulls his fingers out and Harry hears the click of the bottle cap, followed by the sound of Louis slicking up his cock. More than ready, Harry reaches behind himself, knocking Louis’ hand aside so he can grip the base of his dick and line himself up. Louis’ hands clamp around Harry’s hips as he sinks down slowly, holding him steady until he’s fully seated in Louis’ lap.

His head falls back on a moan at the feeling of Louis filling him up. He takes a moment to adjust, heart rabbiting in his chest and desperation clawing at his skin. He arches his back and wiggles his hips impatiently, straining against the firm hold Louis has on his hips, but Louis just tightens his grip and tuts quietly, sitting up so he can press an open-mouthed kiss to the side of Harry’s neck.

“Relax, love,” Louis murmurs, chest already sticking to Louis’ back with sweat. “There’s no hurry, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Won’t hurt,” Harry insists, tipping his head back against Louis’ shoulder and clenching around him, so that Louis’ fingers spasm against his hips and he bites off a curse. “Please, you feel so good. Let me.”

“Christ,” Louis mutters, but he gives Harry what he wants, loosens his grip on him so that Harry can lever himself up on his knees, then sink back down on Louis’ cock in one swift, smooth motion that punches moans out of both of them.

Swiveling his hips in a tight figure eight, Harry lets out a stream of curses, then cuts himself off when he remembers that the baby can hear him.

“Stop,” Louis laughs. Harry makes a confused noise, not sure what Louis means. “Stop thinking about our baby while I’m fucking you,” Louis pants out, thigh muscles shifting under Harry’s hands.

“You’re not even... doing any of the work,” Harry wheezes around a breathless giggle that turns into a long, drawn-out moan when Louis’ hands slide around his hips and over his belly, fingers splayed wide against his stomach.

“Oh, really,” Louis murmurs, one of his hands slipping up to tug at Harry’s nipples, the other still settled low on his stomach, thumb brushing absently over the soft skin there. Pleasure coils tighter in the pit of his stomach with every flick of his fingers against his chest, every flutter of his palm against the taut, sensitive skin of his tummy.

Louis loves his belly, loves the baby so much already. Harry can’t wait to have a dozen more babies with him. Just the thought has him working his hips harder, bouncing on Louis’ cock until the bed is squeaking beneath them and there are sparks eating at his skin, orgasm pooling in his gut. He presses himself back against Louis’ chest and twists his head around for a kiss, groaning  when Louis wraps a hand around his dick and starts to tug slowly, twisting his hand around the head on every upstroke.

Harry’s head falls back and Louis latches onto the side of his neck immediately, nibbling and sucking bruises into the delicate skin while Harry rolls his hips desperately, trying to fuck himself on Louis’ cock and thrust into the loose circle of his hand at the same time. Louis’ grip on his dick tightens when Harry’s thighs begin to tremble and his moans get louder, and he whispers into the damp skin of Harry’s neck, “Come on, love, you’re doing so good. Come for me, baby.”

The words, Louis’ gritty voice, all of the built-up love and pleasure and happiness, shiver along Harry’s nerve endings and he comes so hard, stars burst behind his eyelids and a few tears slip out from where he’s got his eyes squeezed shut tight. He collapses back against Louis, chest heaving and limbs shaking as Louis holds him up and fucks him through it with short, sharp thrusts. Rhythm faltering from the difficult position, Louis’ fingers scrabble against his sweat-slick skin, trying to find purchase.

“Louis,” Harry moans, shivers still wracking his body, his every nerve ending on fire. “If you don’t come soon, I’m going to get hard again and I’m too tired for round two.”

Louis lets out a weak laugh, rhythm going sloppy as his muscles tighten beneath Harry, toes digging into the mattress for leverage. Fingertips digging into Harry’s hips hard enough to bruise, Louis gasps, “God, I love you. Marry me, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes fly open in shock, fingers going slack where they were gripping the tops of Louis’ thighs. “ _What_?”

Slowing down the rhythm of his hips, Louis presses his forehead to the back of Harry’s shoulder and groans, “Please, Harry, I -”

Confused, excited, vaguely concerned that this is just an accidental proposal because he’s not thinking straight, Harry twists his head around and asks, “Are you serious, Louis? Or are you just asking right now in the heat of the moment?”

Louis just blinks at him for a moment, eyes dark and wide, before his hands clench around Harry’s hips and he says, a hint of hurt in his voice, “I can’t believe you’re asking me that.”

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation while I’m sitting on your cock,” Harry counters, incredulous laughter bubbling up in his throat.

Reaching up to grip Harry’s chin and twist his head just enough so they can look each other in the eye, Louis says, “Harry, I have never been more serious in my life. I’ve loved you forever. I want to marry you and have a dozen more babies with you, I -”

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry interrupts, giddiness welling up in his chest until he finds it difficult to breathe. Ignoring the twinge of discomfort, Harry fists a hand in Louis’ hair and yanks him into a kiss.

The kiss is awkward at best. Neither of them can stop smiling, and Harry can’t stop giggling, feels like he’s about to burst with joy. He keeps drawing back just enough to whisper, “We’re getting _married_ ,” against Louis’ mouth.

They kiss sloppily for a few minutes, too happy and distracted to do much else, but then Harry slowly becomes aware again of Louis’ hands on his stomach, Louis’ heart beating against his back, Louis inside of him, hot and hard and deliciously thick. Sweaty, sated, and not quite sure he has the energy for another orgasm, no matter how good it feels, no matter how good _he_ feels right now, Harry bears down on Louis, grinding his hips filthily and murmuring, “Fuck, Lou. I can’t wait to marry you.”

He can feel it when Louis comes. It’s one of his favorite things, the pulse of Louis’ cock inside of him, and he moans again, twists around for another needy kiss. They’re both breathing hard when Harry drops his head back onto Louis’ shoulder, exhausted, but when Louis goes to lift Harry off his lap, Harry shakes his head frantically, wraps his arms around Louis’ and demands, “Stay.”

They just got _engaged_. He can’t bear the thought of losing that connection to Louis right now, wants to feel as close to him as possible. The outside world, telling their families and friends, showers and clean sheets - everything else can wait.

“My legs are going numb, babe, I can’t -”

“Here,” Harry reasons, tugging on Louis’ arms until he gets the picture and rolls them onto their sides. Harry presses himself back against Louis as snugly as he can, buries a laugh in the pillow when Louis accidentally slides his hand through the mess on Harry’s belly and makes an exasperated grumbling noise. Humming, Harry wraps a hand around Louis’ wrist and lifts it so he can suck each one of Louis’ fingers into his mouth in turn.

“Jesus,” Louis mutters, leaning up on his elbow so he can watch his own fingers disappear between Harry’s bitten-red lips. “Keep that up and you’ll be getting round two, anyway.”

Harry aims a beaming smile over his shoulder and Louis laughs and tightens his grip on him, splays his hand across Harry’s rounded belly and loops their legs together so there’s not a centimeter of space between any parts of their bodies.

“How is it,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to Harry’s shoulder, “that you manage to look like an innocent angel all while you’ve got my dick up your arse and you’re licking your own come off my hand?”

Harry shrugs, inordinately proud and more than a little bit smug. “Just lucky, I guess.”

Louis hums and tucks his face down into the space between Harry’s shoulder and neck, breath sliding warm over Harry’s overheated skin when he murmurs, “I’m the lucky one.”

~*~

**EPILOGUE**

 

“No, wait, Louis just hold Rosie for one more second, I framed it perfectly.” Harry leans back against Louis’ side, one finger clasped tightly in Rose’s tiny fist, and waits for the flash to go off.

His back aches from all of these silly positions they’ve been holding, but he knows they’ll look adorable once they’re printed, so he just grits his teeth and struggles to his feet again so he can move back over to the camera and frame the next shot. Harry pauses behind the camera and just watches what’s going on on the mat for a minute. Louis has Rose hoisted up into the air, her chubby little arms and legs spread wide as she giggles and squeals with delight.

“Too bloody cute.”

Absolutely beaming, Harry turns to look at his assistant for the day, nudges her with his elbow and says, his tone unrepentantly smug, “I know.”

Rolling her eyes, she nudges him back. “Oh, go on. I’ve got this, you don’t need to micromanage everything, you know. Just go sit and enjoy yourself, stop straining your bloody back.”

As if she’s just reminded him, Harry winces and knuckles at the small of his back, trying to work out a twinge. Huffing in frustration, Harry turns so his back is facing her and says, “Sorry, Gems, could you just press right in the center? I can’t get at it hard enough at that angle.”

Harry’s head falls forward and he lets out an embarrassingly loud groan when Gemma presses both thumbs right at the center of his back and kneads as hard as she can. “You know,” Gemma says, only teasing and kindness in her voice, “you could have at least waited until Rose was a year old to get knocked up again.”

Before Harry can respond, he hears Louis laugh from over on the floor, then call out, “Please, he only had to say the words ‘I want another baby’ and he was pregnant a few weeks later.”

“It’s your fault,” Harry says defensively, pouting his bottom lip out at Louis. “Your mum has got seven kids, I think it’s safe to say you’re a fertile bunch.”

“ _Alright_ ,” Gemma says loudly, cutting them off. She pats Harry’s back, then pushes him gently back toward Louis and Rose. “Go on, go sit with your family and take sickeningly adorable photos. I’ve got this.”

Harry grumbles a weak protest, but he goes anyway, easing himself down onto the floor between Louis’ legs and taking Rose from him. Louis frames Harry’s hips with his thighs and leans forward, plastering himself to Harry’s back so he can bop Rose on the tip of her nose, sending her into fits of laughter. He slides his other hand over Harry’s belly, always wanting to touch it, to marvel at how big Harry is already, to feel the warmth of it against his palm.

This time, _Louis_ is the impatient one, always asking Harry if he’s felt the babies move yet, if he thinks they’ll feel them earlier, now that it’s Harry’s second pregnancy, making sure Harry remembers to text him the _moment_ he feels something, even if Louis is in court that day. At nearly four months, Harry is already as big as he was when he was six months pregnant with Rose. It’s strange and exciting, having twins, and he and Louis have been documenting it just as carefully as they had his first pregnancy.

Focusing back on the scene around him, Harry ignores the sound of the shutter and settles Rose against his tummy. She splays her tiny hands against the curve of it and rests her head on the top of his stomach, mouth wide as she makes loud, nonsensical noises. She’s only eleven months old, but Louis is absolutely convinced that she knows Harry is pregnant, and that she’s trying to talk to the babies in his belly. It’s not true, of course, but the thought makes Louis so happy that Harry doesn’t bother trying to correct him.

“Rosie,” Louis coos, hooking his chin over Harry’s shoulder so she can see his face when she looks up. “Kumquat, who loves you?”

Her face scrunches up for a second before she squeals, “Pa!” and pats her hands against Harry’s tummy in excitement. This is a new development, her being able to answer short questions with one-syllable words, and Louis is obsessed.

Focused on Louis, now, Rose waves her hands at him, so Harry passes her back over. He gets tired so easily, these days, that he’s content to just curl up against Louis’ side and watch them interact. He’s sure these photos will be unusable, too much movement and the soppy expression on his own face sickening, but he’s enjoying this too much to try and redirect them.

His little family, Harry thinks happily, not even flinching when Rose tangles her fingers in his hair and tugs a little. Soon to be his _big_ family, Harry mentally corrects, rubbing a hand over his belly. Catching Gemma’s eye over the top of the camera, Harry laughs quietly at the face she pulls.

“What’s so funny?” Louis murmurs in Harry’s ear. Harry shivers when Louis follows the question up with a gentle scrape of his teeth over his earlobe.

“Nothing,” Harry hums, turning to smile at him. Rose finally seems to have burned all of her energy out and is currently blinking up at them sleepily, her head resting against Louis’ chest. _This_ will make for some perfect photos, Harry thinks.

Tilting his head, Louis whispers, “C’mere,” and tips his chin forward, drawing Harry into a kiss.

“Oi, Styles!” Gemma calls, trying to get their attention.

Harry pulls back just enough to say, as loudly as he dares with Rose starting to doze off, “It’s Tomlinson!” then goes back to kissing Louis. He vaguely hears Gemma make a retching noise from over by the camera, but the shutter is still going off, so she doesn’t seem to mind _that_ much.

Lips curving against Louis’, Harry flips Gemma the bird anyway and just kisses Louis harder, parting his lips so Louis can slip his tongue into his mouth.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Gemma complains, abandoning the camera to come over and nip Rose out of Louis’ arms. “You two are gross and Rosie is falling asleep, I’m going to put her down. Don’t you dare get naked in here.”

By the time Gemma stomps out, Rose cradled safely in her arms, the two of them are laughing too hard to do more than trade chaste, open-mouthed kisses. Louis reaches up to twirl a lock of Harry’s hair around his finger, whispers, “Hey.”

“Hey, you,” Harry murmurs back, their mouths still pressed together.

Angling his head, Louis noses at Harry’s jaw, kisses down the side of his neck until he comes to a stop at the top of Harry’s shoulder. The floor is hard and uncomfortable, but Louis is tracing aimless patterns against the side of Harry’s belly and his breath is warm where it’s filtering through the thin fabric of his shirt, and Harry is too content to move.

Sighing happily, he rests his cheek against Louis’ and peers around the room, listens to the faint sound of Gemma singing to Rose in the back room. He can’t believe that just over a year ago, he’d been single and pregnant and absolutely sure that no one would ever want to be with him. Now look at him. He can’t quite help the smile that spreads across his face, so wide he knows Louis can feel it where their cheeks are pressed together.

“What are you so happy about?” Louis mumbles, lifting his head so he can see Harry’s face.

“Nothing,” Harry grins, wrapping his arms around Louis’ neck. “You. Rosie. Us.”

Louis pulls back, a look of outrage on his face. “Nothing? You’re calling us _nothing_?” Growling playfully, Louis grasps Harry’s face in both hands and starts peppering kisses all over his face, muttering, “I’ll show you nothing,” under his voice in between kisses.

“Lou!” Harry giggles, trying to squirm away, but Louis doesn’t let go, just keeps going until Harry’s face is red and he’s clutching at the back of Louis’ shirt, belly aching from laughing so hard.

Finally, Harry manages to break free, falling onto his back, breathless with laughter. Instead of stopping, though, Louis pushes the hem of Harry’s shirt up so he can lean over and blow a raspberry against his tummy.

“Ew,” Harry squeals, pushing at Louis’ head, but he persists, scrubbing his beard against Harry’s skin as he scoots down to nibble on Harry’s love handles. That actually feels quite nice, his teeth sharp and nips just firm enough to send little tendrils of pleasurepain spiralling down Harry’s limbs, but Gemma is just in the back room and could step back out at any moment. Gasping for breath, Harry chants _don’t get hard, don’t get hard_ in his head. It’s not working very well.

Fingers clutching at Louis’ head now instead of pushing him away, Harry gives in to need, entire body going lax as Louis mouths his way up over his hip and nuzzles at the hard line of his cock through his jeans. Gemma is definitely going to walk in one something she doesn’t want to see, but Harry just can’t bring himself to care at this point. Grimacing, Harry pushes his sister from his mind and threads his fingers through Louis’ hair, lets his every thought fill with endless loops of _Louis Louis Louis_.

Louis laps at the head of Harry’s cock through the denim of his trousers until the fabric is damp and warm and he’s throbbing in time with every beat of his heart. Once he’s thoroughly soaked, denim clinging to his overheated skin, Louis lifts his head, eyes dark and lips swollen, and slides a hand up Harry’s leg so he can press the heel of it against the base of Harry’s dick through his jeans. The pressure sends pleasure spiralling up his spine, sets off sparks behind his eyes.

“Still think I’m nothing?” he rasps, smirking at the way Harry’s hips keep lifting off the floor to meet his palm.

Shivering, his entire body on fire with pleasure, with absolute, overwhelming _love_ for this man that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with how completely wonderful he is, Harry shakes his head and whispers, “No. No, you’re everything.”

 

**END**


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